I haven’t given up on hitting 50K but wallowed in the glow of finishing ZCR a bit too long. It’s hard to switch gears without much down time, especially this time of year. I’ve been a shopping, cleaning fool the past two weeks preparing for Thanksgiving. I’ve got two fridges absolutely stuffed with all the fixings. Cooking will start Tuesday night this week, Wednesday is prep day when I’ll bake the pies, make at least 10 batches of egg noodles, and mash 20 pounds of potatoes. (We like our carbs…) Then of course the turkey needs to go into the oven by 8 AM Thursday and we’ll have a house full of guests until late Thursday night.
Writing? In all of that?
Yes. I’m trying. I did some plotting and brainstorming for Lord Regret’s Price. I also decided to see if I could expand the free prequel, Lady Wyre’s Regret. IF I can get to RT next April, I want to have something to hand out and sign (since Lady Doctor Wyre is an ebook). I’m thinking about printing up a chapbook of the prequel and a nice excerpt. But of course I want it to be the absolute best I have to offer, and there’s a lot more to how Lady Wyre and Regret meet than I’ve given you so far.
NaNoWriMo count: 40,450 words
Snippet: this is continuing the free read prequel, Lady Wyre’s Regret. First draft only, etc. etc. I love the little line tying into the next book…. What exactly is Lord Regret’s price?
Waving regally, Charlotte paused on the front steps of Wyreton and awaited her public assassination. Her heartbeat ramped to supersonic speeds, but she managed to smile for the millions of Britannians watching the Solstice Eclipse festivities. Cameras flashed, broadcasting her departure for the royal ball.
As the Duchess of Wyre, she’d be fashionably late. Eternally
late, if Lord Regret manages to pull off this charade.
She heard the shocked whispers and gasps before she felt the assassin’s blade digging into her neck. This time he didn’t spare any pressure, deliberately drawing enough blood to leave DNA evidence on her spotless white marble.
It must look real and authentic.
Drawing in a deep breath, she let a shrill scream echo across the plaza. She clawed at his arm locked about her throat so tightly she couldn’t breathe. Combined with the rigid corset, she was afraid she might actually pass out.
Pain burned across her throat and she screamed again. She hadn’t counted on being so terrified. Her orders had been
explicit. He must rough her up enough to make it look real. He must draw her blood, obviously wounding her severely enough that the general public would believe her dead.
Yet she couldn’t help that niggling doubt. What if Majel had gotten to him? What if someone had upped her price, making the amount on her head too attractive for the famous assassin to resist? Every man has a price. What is Lord Regret’s?