I hit 50,000 words in my latest novel rough draft!
I need to get that thing done, so I can let it cool while I work on my non-fiction project. I'd have them both done by now, if not for all those bills and, on a related note, that pesky full-time job.
But my hands have healed up from the sewer line fiasco, so at least typing isn't painful anymore.
Just for a treat, here's a picture of granddaughter Lilli at Christmas, and an excerpt from the rough draft of We Love Trouble:
"You should be writing."
This is from Chapter One of We Love Trouble, which is narrated by an unusual dog named Wulfgar. Victoria Noble has volunteered herself and her husband, to return a horse to the relatives of a girl who was injured in an apparent accident:
We all watched as the SUV receded into the fog, which was thankfully starting to thin. Then Travis turned to Victoria. “Why …?”
“She was wearing the hat.”
I sniffed the hat. She’d been wearing it, for sure.
“See? Wulfgar agrees. If she’d been galloping through the forest, it wouldn’t have worked its way to the back of her head and stayed there. So she sustained those injuries before the fall.”
“Hm.” Taking the hat from her, Travis examined it. “So … a hat trick, and from this you’ve determined foul play might be indicated. Obviously the deputy has no intention of following up on that.”
“We’ve seen his type of cop—he’s a good guy, but no imagination. We have to stick around long enough to make sure justice is served.”
“Hopefully after breakfast is served. Well, we were going to stay in the park, anyway.” Travis kissed the top of her head. “How do we get the horse back to the camp?”
We all looked at the horse. “Hey, you want to go home?” I asked it in horse, which is kind of like zebra, only less guttural.
“Yeah. Home.” Picking up its head, it looked up the road. A sign had just emerged from the thinning mist.
“Son of a gun.” It was a little too far for me to read—I traded my long-distance vision for other senses—but from Travis’ reaction it looked like the entrance was just up the road. “You want to lead him, or should I?”
“Lead him?” Victoria already had a foot in a stirrup. “Are you intoxicated, Mr. Noble? I’m riding.”
“Get on,” the horse said, wearily.
Travis didn’t seem so sure, but he stood there with the hat and watched as she mounted. “You know, it’s been a long time since you rode a horse free range, so to speak. You’ve mostly been on trail rides the last couple of years.”
Victoria settled herself in and took the reins. “It’s like riding a bike.”
“Yeah, a bike that giant teeth and iron shoes on its wheels.” Sighing, Travis looked at me. “Wulfie, you want to ride or walk?”
“I’ll stay by the horse and bite him if he hurts Victoria.” Travis didn't understand me, and if the horse heard, he didn't react.