I’ve begun my NaNoWriMo journey for 2013. There’s a widget in the sidebar tracking my progress — or lack of progress, as the case may be — because I am a glutton for punishment.
What’s the sekrit? Well, it’s that I’m attempting to write a romantic mystery comedy, and I’ll be publishing it (assuming I finish and it isn’t too bad) under a pen name: Lois Meredith. Like it?
Here’s a bit — and please remember that NaNo is all about just knocking stuff out without worrying about the quality. This is a rough draft.
She was so disappointed in herself, she could have cried. Oh, well, it’s not his fault I’m a goofball. Maybe he’s really a nice enough guy, once you get to know him, instead of expecting him to be somebody he’s not. Maybe.
By the time she pulled into the turnaround, she felt more herself.
The cousin – Waddy, for heaven’s sake – opened the passenger door and unfolded himself. When she got out, he had his head cocked, listening.
“Are those chickens I hear?”
“We keep a dozen, for the eggs.”
She opened the back door for Mr. Worthington, and a streak of black-white-and-brown launched itself onto the cobbles.
“Feisty!” Del Worthington nearly went head-first onto the drive, trying to catch his dog.
Chirp-chirp! faded around the corner of the garage, and the chickens exploded into panic. The crazy dog had run off with Del’s cell phone!
She and Waddy were neck-and-neck after the dog and found the little hound chasing one chicken after another, chirp-chirping all over the yard. That’s the dog? What kind of bark is that?
Waddy grabbed her arm, but she shook him off. No damn dog was going to worry her chickens, she didn’t care whose damn dog it was! She clutched at the dog, but his sleek body slipped through her hands. With a volley of chirps, he turned on her and fastened his teeth on her ankle.
“Ow! Owowowowow!” She had the sense to not jerk away or shake her leg. Punctured would be bad, but torn would be worse.
Waddy sat down next to her leg and the attached canine. Del stopped when he saw the tableau and said, in the hard, quiet voice Mayer had used for intense dramatic scenes,
“Look what you’ve done.”
“Excuse me,” she said, “but I’m not the one biting him. And it hurts!”
“He’s had his shots.”
Shots. I’ll give you shots.
“Ow,” she said.
Waddy was murmurring to the hound. “It’s okay, Feisty. You’re okay. Let the lady go. She didn’t mean to scare you. Let go, boy. Leave it. Leave it, Feisty. Leave it.”
The dog’s tail quivered. He released her in what Parma thought was a highly uncertain manner. She didn’t move until the dog was safely nestled in Waddy’s big arms and out of reach.
“If you don’t mind,” she said, “I’ll let the two of you tend to the luggage. I’d better see to this dog bite.”
“You frightened him,” Del said, coldly.
“He frightened my chickens,” she said, with equal ice. “Plus, he bit me.”
“He was frightened.”
“He’s a chicken chaser.”
“You don’t know anything about him.”
“I know he bites.”
Well, it’s fun to write, anyway. 🙂
A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Set aside ten minutes and write on the topic of camera buttons. Why camera buttons? Why not camera buttons?