I managed to stay up until midnight Oct. 31st and wrote until a little after 1AM to get my first day’s words. Getting up at 6 AM was tough but worth it.
I ended up working 2-3 hours yesterday and had a 2 hour hair appointment, but I did manage short stints later to get 2,552 words for the day.
Today, I logged on for work about an hour, paid some bills, ground some flour and made some bread, and got 500 words. I’m hoping to get another 2500 words today but we’ll see. The kids get out of school an hour early on Fridays and I need to run to the bank — and back to the salon where I left my Kindle, ack!! — but I want to at least get my normal 1667 words to keep slightly ahead.
I haven’t shared any of Lord Regret’s Price yet. I guess I’m nervous about it. It’s been so difficult to get moving, and every time I miss a day, it’s like pulling teeth to get moving again. Even today, knowing I need to write a few more sprints, I have a slight dread about getting started. Once I’m going, it’s fine. I’m on the verge of discovering some cool things about his mother. P.S. I really have no idea who his mother is — if she’s based on a real person or not. Guess I need to figure that out huh?
Anyway, here’s a little from how the book currently opens (not NaNoWriMo material – this was written weeks ago).
Watching Lady Wyre wander through the endless markets in Hoeng Gong was almost as fun as deciding how his next mark would die.
So much for being the galaxy’s most famous assassin. Lord Sigmund Regret shifted the stack of parcels she’d shoved into his arms at the tea shop, careful to keep one hand free in case he needed to reach a weapon. I haven’t accepted a contract in over a month.
At least he’d taken the first load of relatively small packets. He smirked as the other man of their party eyed the enormous—and still growing—stack of silks she’d selected.
“How much room is there in your hold?” Gilead Masters drawled in his distinctive Americus accent. “Surely not enough for all this.”
Sig laughed. “Large enough for Her Grace’s silks, surely, but I’m thankful that she’s not a collector of silver or we’d never get [ship name] out of the dock again.”
“Humph.” Lady Charlotte Wyre tipped up her nose to a haughty angle. “This is only my first day of shopping, gentlemen. These materials are fine for every day gowns, but I intend to create a wardrobe that would dazzle even Her Majesty herself. I’ve gone without the finer things in life for so long that I intend to make up for lost time.”
During the seven years she’d lived in hiding on the Americus colony, she hadn’t dared indulge her taste for the finery to which she’d been accustomed as Duchess of one of Britannia’s most powerful Houses. Sig couldn’t fault her for wanting to make up for lost time. He’d merely prefer to buy out the entire shop rather than stand around waiting while she sorted through each and every bolt.
“Then of course I must find a suitable modiste, not to mention matching trims, hats, boots, and gloves. I must have day wear as well as evening, for I intend to wrangle an invitation into the Forbidden City so I might see the Emperor in all his glory for myself. Not even Majel has accomplished that feat.”
Charlie paid the beaming shopkeeper an exorbitant amount of coin and gave instructions to have the silk delivered to their inn. Sig dumped the tea parcels on top of the shimmering mountain, ignoring the arched look she shot his way. The tea cost twice as much as the silks, but if she was entrusting her precious wardrobe to a delivery boy, she might as well have the tea delivered too. At the prospect of Charlie surviving without tea, though, Sig relented enough to pick up the largest parcel full of her favorite, golden-tipped Assum.
Gil took her arm and they led the way down the crowded aisle. People of all colors and species filled the market, yelling in dozens of languages. Zijin was far enough away from the mighty arm of Britannia that trade flourished. Even species like the Razari—who’d barely survived Britannia’s cruel method of technological assimilation—risked sailing into the open market of Hoeng Gong, a tiny island satellite of the larger Zijin system.
The crush of people on all sides sent Sig’s self-preservation alarms into overdrive. He’d killed countless marks in situations like this. A slim knife slipped between ribs and he was away before the person even noticed something was wrong. Oftentimes their lungs were filling with blood before they even realized that prick they’d felt had been deadly. With his law enforcement background, Gil was equally uneasy, holding Charlie close to his side, his dark head turning this way and that, constantly scanning for danger. She tipped her face up to the other man and he bent down to hear over the clamor.
The sight of their heads so close to together sent an ugly pulse through Sig’s gut, hard enough that he turned away so he wouldn’t have to look at them.
Surely the infamous Lord Regret isn’t feeling jealousy.
Oh but I am. I am.