I only got 800+ words election night. Last night was even worse. I still have hope for tonight, but man, it’s slow going. The words just don’t have any life. I know the plot, the characters, everything, but there’s just no energy and vibrancy to the words.
I just have to keep going. Keep pushing. The magic is there. I just have to find it.
On the bright side, I’m off tomorrow and Monday. Hopefully I can make up some lost ground. Total (before tonight’s work): 10,996 words
Snippet (still not NaNoWriMo material):
Bloody hell. She’s brought us to a sex shop.
Sig gritted his teeth, sure his face had exploded in fire. He shot a subtle look at the other man to see his reaction.
Studying the chains and clamps, Masters whispered, “I guess my handcuffs aren’t enough for her any longer.”
A surge of fury and shame swept through Sig so viciously he trembled. “Enough for me, you mean. Is that what this is about?”
Masters arched a brow at him. “I have no idea what the lady’s about. You know her better than I.”
Do I? Shaken, Sig slipped closer to her so he could overhear her quiet words to the young woman running the back counter. He tried to be invisible, making himself small and thin and dark, barely even breathing. But the young woman’s eyes flickered his way and she gave him a small, knowing smile.
“Very good,” Charlie said. “May I try a few to make sure I select the correct grip?”
“Of course.” The shopkeeper pulled down several short-handled crops and flails. “These look to be the best length for your arm and height. This one,” she pointed to a flail with thin tails of cloth, “delivers the softest blow. This one uses beads and leather to deliver more pain without the same cutting strike. Which do you think will suit your needs best?”
Charlie chuckled softly. “I don’t honestly know. I’m afraid I’m a novice at all this. However…” She trailed her fingers over the braided detail of the leather flail. White cording made an intricate webbing about the black leather. “I find this design the most interesting. What do you think, Sig?”
“I despise it.” His lips felt so tight that he could barely speak. “Why would you even think I’d like such a thing?”
She tilted her head, her eyes wide with mock surprise that made him quiver with rage. “Why on earth would you assume it’s for you?”
Still going along but I have to work in chunks. I’ve had a lot of distractions with real life and work, but I keep giving myself small chunks. Write 500 words and take a break.
Write another 500 words.
It’s slow but it is progress and the words are adding up.
I managed to write a little in the car yesterday on the way to the funeral, and then slowly worked my way toward the last 700 words last night. I’m sitting at 7664 words this morning, my last day of vacation. But I keep getting distracted.
I love watching cheesy horror movies and I’m on my second today. But I am writing at the same time, just nothing major in word count. I’m also going to vote today, so I’m not sure how much time I’ll lose this afternoon waiting in line.
But that’ll free me up tomorrow and ensure I don’t get sucked into work and forget to go vote!
Continuing from the last snippet: (again, not NaNoWriMo material, not yet)
It’d been easy enough in the beginning to accept that Charlie wanted two men in her bed. He was merely thankful they were all still alive and that she’d escaped Queen Majel’s Runners. He hadn’t even minded when she’d made love to him and then Gil or vice versa. In the beginning, she’d often had them both in her bed, but they’d never interacted. It’d been very much a “wait until it’s your turn” situation. Not that he’d complained, again. She kept him well satisfied and he’d never felt slighted or neglected in any way.
But night after night after night in that small ship speeding through the galaxy had begun to wear upon him. Why he didn’t know exactly. He loved her. She loved him. Gil loved her without question as well.
Sometimes love isn’t enough.
He winced at that thought and noticed he was stroking the hilt of his favorite knife tucked into a sheaf on his hip.
Her hand settled on his forearm, drawing his attention to her face.
“What is is?”
He gave her a jaunty grin. “Merely dreading the next dress shop, Your Grace.”
Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head as she studied him. He fought to keep his shoulders relaxed and his face smooth of any upset.
“I see.” She linked her arm with his and drew him alongside her and Gil. “I thought perhaps you’d received a new contract and were afraid to tell me.”
“I wish,” he muttered. A little killing always helped him keep the darkness at bay. That, and visiting her. But even with her admittedly divided attention, that same old uneasiness was beginning to gnaw at him. Soon, he’d be unable to sleep, tormented by old shadowed pain. Pain he’d thought he’d left behind a very long time ago. “Why would I be afraid to tell you? You already told me you wouldn’t try to make me quit.”
He couldn’t help that small emphasis. He’d do anything she wanted within reason, but if Lady Wyre thought she could bat her eyes and make him stop being an assassin, then she’d be sorely mistaken.
She let out a low, rich chuckle that heated his blood, even while her words made him tense. “Don’t challenge me, Sig. You might not like the outcome.”
It was easy to slip the knife out and press the tip to her side before she even drew a breath. “Don’t challenge me, Lady Wyre.”
She hissed beneath her breath. “Don’t call me that, even here. One never knows where the Queen’s Ravens may listen.”
Blasted woman. She ought to be afraid of him not the distant albeit powerful queen hunting her all across the galaxy. He jabbed the knife a bit harder. “Do you honestly think Majel has spies here? Look around, Your Grace. Do you see a single red coat? A single Britannian ship in the docks? No. Hoeng Gong is open to everyone except Britannia, which is why so many people are willing to risk trading here. Even if Majel knew you were here, she couldn’t do anything.”
“You’re a fool, then.” Charlie’s voice cooled but her pitch didn’t rise with alarm. Calm and cool even with a knife poking her in the ribs, she drew to a halt and stared up at him levelly. Gil cursed low under his breath. “Never mind, Gil. I’m fine.”
“That knife is pointed at your heart,” he replied grimly, his big right hand shifting toward the ancient pistol he kept beneath his coat. Sig couldn’t help but grin, trying to antagonize the man. They’d clashed early on and even bloodied each other a little, but she’d quickly put an end to their alpha dog posturing. Maybe a fight would put him at ease at least long enough for a contract to come through.
“No matter.” She shrugged, completely nonplussed. “He knows I’m always prepared for such events, don’t you, dearest? He was introduced to the corset I fondly call the iron maiden before I ever left Britannia.”
Indeed, their first meeting had gone rather like this, with him threatening to kill her while she looked him in the eye and dared him to try. He hadn’t seen that steel-walled corset again. Had she brought it along on his ship? Would she have thought to wear it?
Do I want to risk bloodying the woman I love just to prove a point?
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.