November 19, 2006

  • Sprinting for the Finish ...

    I'm hard after it working on the book.  I know I've neglected everyone terribly and I'm truly sorry, but I have to say that I will probably continue to be somewhat neglectful until I type "The End" which may or may not be on November 30.  I'm determined to tell the WHOLE story this year. 

    Anyway, after an early morning panic over issues with saving and recovering files I'm back into it.  Wanna peek? - a word of explanation, it is my habit to begin with a bit of straight dialogue and then go back and add the "beats" the "he said, she said, she arched her eyebrow" stuff that rounds it out and gives me that nice fat word count by the end of the day. 

    Emma, recently divorced, unemployed and down to her last $100 dollars gets the offer of a job, but on her way home she's involved in a traffic accident that leaves her with a broken arm and a totalled vehicle.  Her best friend Gwyn arrives unexpectedly to sort of check in on her and do what she can to help.  The night Gwyn arrives, they stay up very late acting like schoolgirls and drinking.  Chapter 15 begins the next morning.

    Chapter 15

    “Ow!  Dammit, whose idea was it to hang a piñata in the middle of the room?”

    Emma pulled the blanket down far enough to peek out at Gwyn fighting with the enormous (and far too brightly colored for a morning after drinking) donkey that had apparently just kicked her in the head as she stumbled to the kitchen.  “That would be you.”

    “Next time I have a brilliant idea like that, remind me that my brilliant ideas aren’t so brilliant after I sober up.”  Gwyn rummaged in the refrigerator.  “I know we bought orange juice.”

    “Yes, but the part that we didn’t use in those sunset things you were mixing, the kids drank with breakfast.”

    “They’ve had breakfast already?  What’s wrong with them getting up at the butt crack of dawn?”

    “They’ve been in school for the past hour.”

    “You people are weird.”  She turned to rummage the pantry.  “You got any pancake mix?” 

    “Center cabinet to the right.  Syrup is right next to it.”

    “This isn’t syrup.  This is some kind of sugar free stuff.”

    “It’s better for you,” Emma said.  She climbed out from the recliner and stretched. 

    “It will give me a headache.  We have to go out for breakfast.  Surely you people have IHOP or Denny’s or …. Ooooooh, Waffle House!”

    “We do, and Perkins and Village Inn.”

    “Hmmmmm, Village Inn is alright, but the thought of sugar free syrup requires a massive infusion of grease and bad coffee, so we’re doing Waffle House today.”

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