Writing Diary: Week 10

First, put your name in the raffle yet?? Three prizes up for grabs!

This last week easily started out as a just take the week off week. I'm pretty burnt out, creatively speaking. I was also facing the loss of three days because I had a panel and signing at C2E2 in Chicago.

Signing with Daryl Gregory & John Scalzi @ C2E2

Scifi panel moderated by Gary Wolfe, with John Scalzi & Daryl Gregory.

I got my hits in, though. I must have changed one scene in the YA a thousand times before finding the right setting. Then I left the house. You writers know what I'm talking about. Sometimes WE just need a change of setting. I kill word counts on planes, and in airports, and in hotel lobbies with a large coffee. I literally got nothing done on Friday, but Thursday and Saturday? Well, let's see.

Adult Scifi: 33,298. I'm still pleased with how this is shaping up. My plot threads are braiding together nicely, and even though I'm in the dreaded middle, I'm enjoying the every scene I spend with my main character. Even better, I finally got past that really dark set of chapters I had to write, and Leigh and I are back to snarky normal. Whew!

Fave Lines: 

I pushed off the wall and approached her. “You and I don’t talk much.”

“At all,” she corrected.

I smiled. “I’d like to rectify that.”

Her arms folded, rumpling her red blouse. “I’m not sure that’s necessary.”

“Why not? Is your dance card so full of friends that you have no room for one more?” I threaded my arm through hers, undoing the tight bow she’d made of her limbs. She let me guide her down the hall toward the front room with little resistance. “What do you like to do in your spare time? You look like a cross-stitcher.”

When I looked at her, I found her glossed mouth pursed into a thin line.

“No?” I continued. “No, you’re right. That’s ridiculous.”

We entered the living room and I placed her on the couch, then sat on the black iron coffee table in front of her. I crossed my legs and tapped my fingertips on the top of a stone globe sitting next to me. Weird place for a paperweight, but…

“No, you”—I lifted the globe and pointed the base at her—“are one of those women who likes extremes, aren’t you, Vicky?”

“Ms. Gamble.” She took the globe and set it back on the table. “That’s a limited edition Nostrumo. Please be careful.”

I ignored the reprimand, only because I had to crack her shell. “You look innocent, but I bet you do crazy things during your free time.”

“I have no free time, Ms. Bennett.”

“Mr. White isn’t always home… Who knows what you do?”

“The staff I keep in line, that’s who.” She folded her arms and cocked her head. “Is there a point to all this?”

“I’ve got it!” I retrieved the globe and passed it like a ball, albeit a heavy one, between both hands. “You’re an evil genius, Vicky.” I gave her a you’re so sly look. “Plotting world domination under the guise of a loyal employee. Who would of ever guessed?”

YA Scifi: 34,401. *happy dance* I. Love. This. So. Much. That is all.

Fave Lines: 

I swallow the desert sand coating my mouth and push through the bodies behind Ari. Everyone gives me room, but just as Ian comes into view, just as his eyes catch mine on a stolen breath, a seething set of brown eyes appear right before mine.

“Hello, Georgia,” I say. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You aren’t welcome here,” she says, matching my smile. The fold of her arms and jaunty hip are all her, though.

I imagine flicking her in the forehead and how good that would feel. Then inhale my calm, trying my damndest to avoid meeting the inquisitive looks we’re getting. “I just want to welcome him home.”

She steps up to me so fast I have to retreat or get trampled. Her eyes have a strange, flat sheen to them. “Over my dead body.”

“Awe, how sweet of you to offer.” Bitch. “Look, I left my weapons in the elevator. I won’t touch a hair on his head. Swear.”

“Let’s get one thing clear. You won’t go near him. Ever.”

“I can’t do that.” I won’t do that. Who does she think she is?

One of Georgia’s good friends sidles up to her. Britt, I think her name is. Black hair cut short and angled along her pointy jawline. Tiny eyes. Big nose. Pretty and ugly at the same time. She hurts my eyes.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

Yes, nosey, I want to say. God. Girls suck.

“Just telling Sloan where her place is,” Georgia says.

“Need help?”

I lean toward Britt, hands fisting at my sides. I will knock the sheen right off her forehead. “Excuse me?”

Georgia puts a hand up. “No thanks. She heard me, and she understands that I’ll make her life hell if she goes anywhere near my boyfriend again.”

“I know it’s hard to hear with your head stuck so far up your rear end, so I’m willing to repeat my response to your query any time you deem necessary. Or was it the phrasing that confused you? Because I have an entire vocabulary of words that are perfect for two-year-old minds.”