LitWridoNaNoWriMo 2004 - The Support Thread

[Guest]

Update done. Thanks, all!

 

[Liar]

Update done. Thanks, all!

Woo for Lou!

Anyway, I just wrote another 550 words. Some weird shit. I think I need a second opinion here.

Does this makes sense?

The premises is that this girl, 'Aki', is one fucked up college kid, dealing with a traffic accident trauma in a very destructive way. this is a first flashback to the actual event, told in a bit general terms, since details are supposed to emerge later...


---------------------------------
Like a fish on a spear. There was no difference. He trashed around, sputtered and shook, while some black thick liquid that didn't look at all like what she had expected human blood would look like, seeped from the multiple entry craters and from the corner of his astonished mouth. He shook so heavily, the black liquid slobbered all over her like the drool of one of those bloodhounds that always looks so depressed. Then she saw that it indeed was as red as blood ought to be. Finally, just like the fish, the long silvery fishes she and he used to catch down by the quay at eight in the morning on weekends, the trembles stopped, and the bulging eyes went blank. Then his head, until then carried rigid by panicked sinews, slumped down to one side, and a flood of accumulated blood and froth came out, running down his chest and left arm. It dripped off his fingers and down on the seat.

Everything was silent. Just seconds ago, her world had been filled with the frenzied shattering of hardened glass, the bending of steel frames and the shrieking of tires against the dry asphalt. And then the surreal, wet series of thumps, articulated through a momentary pause between the impact of the windshield and the front of the car smashing into the refuge and coming to a stop against the mid highway concrete barrier. The wet thumps of the seven long reinforcement bars that had rocketed from the truck in front of them, cut through the windshield like butter, and through the driver even easier, before embedding themselves in and through the driver's seat.

The long, ribbed iron bars went through the man with surgical precision, one trashing his left shoulder, another entering just above the left collar bone. One punctured his lung and two took the route through his intestines. One last iron bar pinned the jacket of his right forearm to the seat behind him, and two other bars barely missed his head and throat. Not that he needed them, impaled on five spears, he died rather quickly anyway. But it gave him just enough time of spectacular spasms for Aki to start thinking of the fishes the man and her had caught with sharp sticks in the shallow water of the portside lagoon down south, at her grandparents' villa.

Her father had promised to tell her why they could flop around like that, even after then had had their heads cut off, been opened and gutted. But it slipped his mind and then slipped hers too. Now he would never be able to explain, unless you could count his own sickening struggle against the inevitable a very hands-on lesson. Because the man in the driver's seat was that man. Aki callously, almost absently, watched her father die an almost aesthetically intriguing death, and held a curious finger to his limp, red dripping hand for a tentative prod.

It took nine seconds for the first iron bars to start slipping form the top of the truck, until that incredible silence up on the refuge. It took Aki five minutes to start screaming. And then another ten after the ambulance arrived for the medics to pin her down, so they could give her a sedatives injection.
---------------------------------

 

[Guest]

Woo for Lou!

Anyway, I just wrote another 550 words. Some weird shit. I think I need a second opinion here.

Does this makes sense?

The premises is that this girl, 'Aki', is one fucked up college kid, dealing with a traffic accident trauma in a very destructive way. this is a first flashback to the actual event, told in a bit general terms, since details are supposed to emerge later...


---------------------------------
Like a fish on a spear. There was no difference. He trashed around, sputtered and shook, while some black thick liquid that didn't look at all like what she had expected human blood would look like, seeped from the multiple entry craters and from the corner of his astonished mouth. He shook so heavily, the black liquid slobbered all over her like the drool of one of those bloodhounds that always looks so depressed. Then she saw that it indeed was as red as blood ought to be. Finally, just like the fish, the long silvery fishes she and he used to catch down by the quay at eight in the morning on weekends, the trembles stopped, and the bulging eyes went blank. Then his head, until then carried rigid by panicked sinews, slumped down to one side, and a flood of accumulated blood and froth came out, running down his chest and left arm. It dripped off his fingers and down on the seat.

Everything was silent. Just seconds ago, her world had been filled with the frenzied shattering of hardened glass, the bending of steel frames and the shrieking of tires against the dry asphalt. And then the surreal, wet series of thumps, articulated through a momentary pause between the impact of the windshield and the front of the car smashing into the refuge and coming to a stop against the mid highway concrete barrier. The wet thumps of the seven long reinforcement bars that had rocketed from the truck in front of them, cut through the windshield like butter, and through the driver even easier, before embedding themselves in and through the driver's seat.

The long, ribbed iron bars went through the man with surgical precision, one trashing his left shoulder, another entering just above the left collar bone. One punctured his lung and two took the route through his intestines. One last iron bar pinned the jacket of his right forearm to the seat behind him, and two other bars barely missed his head and throat. Not that he needed them, impaled on five spears, he died rather quickly anyway. But it gave him just enough time of spectacular spasms for Aki to start thinking of the fishes the man and her had caught with sharp sticks in the shallow water of the portside lagoon down south, at her grandparents' villa.

Her father had promised to tell her why they could flop around like that, even after then had had their heads cut off, been opened and gutted. But it slipped his mind and then slipped hers too. Now he would never be able to explain, unless you could count his own sickening struggle against the inevitable a very hands-on lesson. Because the man in the driver's seat was that man. Aki callously, almost absently, watched her father die an almost aesthetically intriguing death, and held a curious finger to his limp, red dripping hand for a tentative prod.

It took nine seconds for the first iron bars to start slipping form the top of the truck, until that incredible silence up on the refuge. It took Aki five minutes to start screaming. And then another ten after the ambulance arrived for the medics to pin her down, so they could give her a sedatives injection.
---------------------------------

WOW! Yes, that makes sense!

I seriously loved that. Very hard-hitting, yet kind of soft and poetic (I doubt that makes sense now!).

Your powers of description are incredible. I felt as if I was there, amongst the steel and blood.

If that's indicative of your whole novel, can I read it? Please?

Lou

 

[Liar]

WOW! Yes, that makes sense!

I seriously loved that. Very hard-hitting, yet kind of soft and poetic (I doubt that makes sense now!).

Your powers of description are incredible. I felt as if I was there, amongst the steel and blood.

If that's indicative of your whole novel, can I read it? Please?

Lou

Ta! It felt logical and functional in my head, but I really didn't know if the event would communicate to anyone else, or if I had missed something crucial.

Of course you can read it. That is, if I even manage to finish the damn thing. 50k words does not nessecarily mean the exact ending.

#L

 

[Liar]

Ah well. Time to go snooze. Good luck and happy typing everyone.

Momentum, momentum, momentum....

#L

 

[Dingus Guy]

Woo for Lou!

Anyway, I just wrote another 550 words. Some weird shit. I think I need a second opinion here.

Does this makes sense?

The premises is that this girl, 'Aki', is one fucked up college kid, dealing with a traffic accident trauma in a very destructive way. this is a first flashback to the actual event, told in a bit general terms, since details are supposed to emerge later...


---------------------------------
Like a fish on a spear. There was no difference. He trashed around, sputtered and shook, while some black thick liquid that didn't look at all like what she had expected human blood would look like, seeped from the multiple entry craters and from the corner of his astonished mouth. He shook so heavily, the black liquid slobbered all over her like the drool of one of those bloodhounds that always looks so depressed. Then she saw that it indeed was as red as blood ought to be. Finally, just like the fish, the long silvery fishes she and he used to catch down by the quay at eight in the morning on weekends, the trembles stopped, and the bulging eyes went blank. Then his head, until then carried rigid by panicked sinews, slumped down to one side, and a flood of accumulated blood and froth came out, running down his chest and left arm. It dripped off his fingers and down on the seat.

Everything was silent. Just seconds ago, her world had been filled with the frenzied shattering of hardened glass, the bending of steel frames and the shrieking of tires against the dry asphalt. And then the surreal, wet series of thumps, articulated through a momentary pause between the impact of the windshield and the front of the car smashing into the refuge and coming to a stop against the mid highway concrete barrier. The wet thumps of the seven long reinforcement bars that had rocketed from the truck in front of them, cut through the windshield like butter, and through the driver even easier, before embedding themselves in and through the driver's seat.

The long, ribbed iron bars went through the man with surgical precision, one trashing his left shoulder, another entering just above the left collar bone. One punctured his lung and two took the route through his intestines. One last iron bar pinned the jacket of his right forearm to the seat behind him, and two other bars barely missed his head and throat. Not that he needed them, impaled on five spears, he died rather quickly anyway. But it gave him just enough time of spectacular spasms for Aki to start thinking of the fishes the man and her had caught with sharp sticks in the shallow water of the portside lagoon down south, at her grandparents' villa.

Her father had promised to tell her why they could flop around like that, even after then had had their heads cut off, been opened and gutted. But it slipped his mind and then slipped hers too. Now he would never be able to explain, unless you could count his own sickening struggle against the inevitable a very hands-on lesson. Because the man in the driver's seat was that man. Aki callously, almost absently, watched her father die an almost aesthetically intriguing death, and held a curious finger to his limp, red dripping hand for a tentative prod.

It took nine seconds for the first iron bars to start slipping form the top of the truck, until that incredible silence up on the refuge. It took Aki five minutes to start screaming. And then another ten after the ambulance arrived for the medics to pin her down, so they could give her a sedatives injection.
---------------------------------

Very grisly and graphic which is good to any reader. Well done depiction Liar. I would change the following line:
Finally, just like the fish, the long silvery fishes she and he used to catch down by the quay at eight in the morning on weekends, the trembles stopped, and the bulging eyes went blank.

Change "she and he" to "they both". To me it would sound a lot better. Yet that is just my opinion. Either way, nice work so far.

 

[CrimsonMaiden]

Scrapping idea one. Boy is this familiar. Did the same thing last year. The idea I had for NaNo is going to take alot of research, etc for me to be able to get it written, and I don't have to time to do all of that and write too.

So... I am going the route some others have taken and have decided to continue a work already in progress. So back to the drawing board. I'm just going to leave the current word counter in my sig until I catch up.

Lou, I'll pm you with the title and genre change.

 

[smartnsassy]

No way do I have the luxury to change my mind. I'm stuck with this one for better or worse. Some days I feel like I can barely keep up.

 

[sweetnpetite]

What she said, LOL

 

[neonlyte]

Liar,
Nice piece of writing, pace, realism and heavy without being morbid. Interesting plot to work with. Well done.

Crimson
50k is a challenge to hit from cold unless you have unlimited time to work through the month. I fully support what you intend to do, better to push something your comfortable with rather than frustrate yourself. Use the time between now and the next Nano to research the story you want to write, you'll tear through the 50k - guaranteed.

Best of luck.

Neon

 

[cloudy]

okay, folks, another small excerpt, just to show how much garbage I'm churning out .

She pulled up in her grandmother's driveway, and as she shut her car door, she saw the front door of the house open, and her grandmother's figure there in the door, waiting for her, a dishtowel in her hands. Sherry forgot about the duffel bag in her trunk for the moment, and she found herself trotting the few feet to the steps. Then she was up the steps and in her grandmother's arms, her chin resting on the head of the much smaller woman, and the familiar scents of home filling her nostrils. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed her grandmother until she was there, and the sounds and smells of home surrounded her.

Her grandmother released her, holding her at a distance to look Sherry over, head to toe, her eyes sharp and black in her round face. She seemed to find everything to her liking, and then smiled finally, creases at the corners of her eyes almost making them disappear as she pulled her granddaughter back into her embrace. Sherry leaned in, remembering when her grandmother seemed the strongest, and wisest person on earth, and realizing that although the wisdom was still there, her grandmother was a small woman, round and soft like grandmothers should be, but she felt frail in Sherry's arms. It hit her suddenly, that her grandmother wouldn't live forever, and she squeezed tighter with her arms almost by reflex.

"Huh. Look at you, acting like you actually missed me, missed this place." Her grandmother said, disengaging herself from Sherry's arms. It was said with a smile, but Sherry knew that the old woman was glad to see her, could tell from the greeting she had received.

"I have missed you, grandmother, more than I realized, I think." Sherry answered, before turning to go back down the steps, and retrieve her duffel bag from the trunk of her car.

"I've told you and told you and told you that this is your home, but do you ever listen to an old woman? Of course not." Her grandmother snorted in disgust, and turned to go back into the house, leaving the door open behind her, confident that Sherry would follow.

Sherry smiled. Some things never changed. Her grandmother was very much the same as she'd been when Sherry was very small, but she could see minute changes that time had wrought while she had been gone. The wrinkles that made up the landscape of the old woman's face had grown deeper. She was still someone to be respected - her honesty and strength was in her eyes for all to read, but Sherry realized as she watched her grandmother retreat into the cool darkness of the house, that her steps were slower, and more careful, and again, the realization that her grandmother wasn't going to live forever hit her with an almost physical blow. She knew her grandmother wanted her to move back home, bring her education back to the people that needed her, and for the first time, Sherry felt the stirrings of guilt that she had never had before about leaving the reservation for a life in a city.

She carried her duffel bag into the house, and down the hallway to the bedroom that had always been hers. Nothing much had changed, although the posters of rock groups were gone, as was the clutter that she had insisted on as a teenager. But those changes were minor, and Sherry felt herself slipping back into the role of a child, and fought against it. It pulled at her, though, whispering to her of dreams that she'd had, and opportunities that she still might have, if she would only open herself to the possibilities. She put her things away, brushing the whispers away like spiderwebs that drifted around her, and then joined her grandmother in the kitchen, the smells of her grandmother's cooking meeting her in the hallway, and pulling her the rest of the way into the warm open room, where the old woman stood at the stove, busy with the first order of business: making sure the children were fed. She had someone home to cook for, finally, so she was making the most of it.

Sherry sat down at the small table in the kitchen, and looked around her. Nothing had changed in the time she'd been gone, nothing. It was as if she'd managed to turn the time back to when she was just barely eighteen, and thought she knew everything. She realized with a start that she had unconciously chosen the same seat she had occupied at the table when she lived there. The tide of the past was starting to drag her back with it, and she didn't need that right now, no matter how tempting it was, or how comforting the thought of just going with it was. Sherry knew that her grandmother wouldn't wait long to start trying to talk her into moving back home, and though the idea was not the anathema it had been just a few days ago, there was so much painful history here for her that she just couldn't. She was having trouble right now with just the thought of facing Joseph sometime in the next few days. It was inevitable in the close confines of the reservation that she would run into him, and she was sure that the grapevine that functioned so well there had already let him know she was there.

When her grandmother slid a plate of food in front of her on the table, just taking for granted that she was hungry, she was finally able to shake off the memories of Joseph for the moment, and realized that her grandmother had been right, as usual. She was ravenous, and she started in on the food in front of her with relish, the tastes of home bringing their own memories, and she heard her grandmother start humming tunelessly at the stove, as she did when she was happy. She smiled at her grandmother's back, and kept eating. She was home.

 

[English Lady]

Morning all

Liar as everyone else says your little snippet made sense and also managed to be damn entertaining too

Crimson -well good luck with the new venture! Go you!

Cloudy -that doesn't read like garbage to me


Myself? well I'm just over 15000 words and I'm procrastinating something chronic *L* Ok Ok off to write now -promise!

 

[cloudy]

Cloudy -that doesn't read like garbage to me

Thanks, EL.

I've let myself get behind for the last couple of days, but if I can manage to keep this pace up for a bit, I'll be able to be on track again by the end of the weekend. *keeping my fingers crossed*

 

[Virtual_Burlesque]

Final Goal: 500,00 words
Daily Goal: 2,000 words
Current Total: 18,268

SnP,

I don't believe you will make your NaNoWriMo goal, Sweets, because . . .

30 days hath September,
April, June, so just remember.
All the rest are short and nifty,
Because November has 250.

 

[LorriLove]

you lot at it again this year i see, good luck to all of you, and you're better than me, i took near on a bloody year to write my one and only.

lorri xxx (nano widow )

 

[sweetnpetite]

SnP,

I don't believe you will make your NaNoWriMo goal, Sweets, because . . .

30 days hath September,
April, June, so just remember.
All the rest are short and nifty,
Because November has 250.

And I thought it was all the procrastination that was going to keep me from getting there!

And all along it was that damn misplaced comma!

 

[neonlyte]

Lorri-Luv

How wonderful to see you abreast of things.

Tell the 'old bugger' to keep on top of things, word count I mean.

neon

 

[Svenskaflicka]

Nä, vicken pöööööööt kissemiss, Liar!

 

[oggbashan]

Slow

Total to date: 7999.

Last year I'd done that much by the end of day 1.

Og

 

[Guest]

Re: Slow

Total to date: 7999.

Last year I'd done that much by the end of day 1.

Og

Keep at it, Og, you never know.

I can actually feel mine coming together now, and I am finally enjoying writing the damn thing! I've had a really good day today and pushed the plot forward.

Nobody is ever gonna believe a woman wrote this...

It's EVIL!

Lou

 

[English Lady]

Lou -it must be osmething in the air as I had written all the words i planned to write for the day by lunch *grins*

currently I stand at 18 641


I may even squeeze out some more before bed but I do have other needs to attend to right now

 

[Svenskaflicka]

Today's writing included the story's first Slash-kiss.

 

[Svenskaflicka]

...more to follow.

 

[Guest]

Lou -it must be osmething in the air as I had written all the words i planned to write for the day by lunch *grins*

currently I stand at 18 641


I may even squeeze out some more before bed but I do have other needs to attend to right now

Yep, it's been cold today, and I couldn't be arsed to get off my bum to turn the heating up, so the only way to keep warm was by typing faster.



Good to hear you're going so well with yours, babe.

Lou

 

[neonlyte]

Here's an extract that pretty much stands alone form today's typing.

The two couples are roughly the same age either side if fifty. This scene is painting a calm before the storm, all hell is about to break loose. They think they've got it all solved. It's straight off the type so excuse any error's.

Setting is Norway, village of Fosse, about halfway up Hardrangerfjord. They are in the process of buying an waterside warehouse cum shop, abandoned during the second world war complete with all it's stock, problem is they have to buy four other properties that come with it.



“Good heavens Simon, this place is magnificent. What a find.”

It was Sunday, the four of them had driven down to Fosse, Simon swapping the rental van for a four-wheel drive until Wednesday as arranged with the rental company. They were exploring the warehouse building, proudly showing Molly and Ronald what they intended to buy, Molly green with envy, but in the nicest of ways.

“It’s just amazing, I can’t believe we just stumbled across it. We’ll be happy here, I can feel it.”

“Great place to write Simon, you won’t lack for inspiration, that view is just astonishing.” A burst of laughter from the inner depths of the warehouse interrupted them. “Listen to those two,” Ronald continued, “you’d think they’d been friends for years.”

Iddy emerged into the light, a whalebone corset strapped around her waist, twirling around, modelling it for the men.

“What do you think?” She asked, eyes full of mischief, “Shall I take it home Simon?”

He laughed, “You can if you want, but you’re not sleeping with me wearing that.”

“Spoil sport,” she pouted, “I’ll save it until you’re old and need some encouragement.” She turned on her toes and went back to where Molly stood laughing.

“Come on you two, if were going up the mountain we should make a move.”

#

“Do you think they could buy our spare house?” Iddy asked as they walked along the track to the mountain cottage.

“Why? Has Molly said anything?”

“She said she’d love to have somewhere in a place like Fosse, she’s trying to talk Ronald into retiring, he’s refusing say’s he’ll get bored sitting at home doing nothing.”

“He’s right. Most men die within a few years of retirement, nothing to do, they just grow bored with life, but he wouldn’t want to live here, he’s too set in the ways of English life.”

“Show’s you how much you know. Do you know what his life long ambition is? I’ll tell you, he wants to build his own timber sailing boat, nothing big, just dingy sized.”

“How do you find time to discover these things? You and Molly have hardly been out of our company, when did you talk about this.”

“Girl’s talk about important things, half the time you don’t listen anyway.”

“Rubbish!”

“Molly, does Ronald ever listen to anything you say?” She called over her shoulder.

“Of course not. And anyway, he’s not supposed to. That way I can tell him he’s already agreed when the decorators turn up. As long as there’s a meal on the table and some wine in the pantry, he’s perfectly happy.”

“Will you two stop talking about me as if I’m not here,” Ronald interjected, “Simon, help a chap out.”

“Sorry Ron, more than my life’s worth. I’m not getting in the way when these two are scheming things.”

“What are you planning now Mol’s love.”

“Secret, I’m not telling. Oh my God Ronald, look at this.” She turned Ronald to the view that took Iddy and Simon’s breath away weeks before. “Please don’t tell me Iddy that you have one of those cottages, it’s not fair. It’s so beautiful, it’s like fairy land. Ronald, if you refuse me in this, you’ll have to get used to sleeping by yourself.”

“What? You haven’t asked me anything!”

“Which one’s yours Iddy?” she left Ronald slack jawed bouncing down the path and catching Iddy by the arm, “come on, I want to see. It’s so beautiful, is that a lake?”

Ronald was pretty sure he knew where this was heading, Molly had been on at him for months to retire, she was slowly and patiently wearing him down, and he knew he’d give in. It just bothered him what he was going to do with his days. All right for a chap like Simon, he’s his writing to occupy him, but apart from sailing, and Mol’s of course, Ronald had no activities outside of the office, it wasn’t retiring that bothered him, it was filling his days after retiring. He shrugged his shoulders at Simon and joined with him on the path.

“What’s it all about, got clues Simon?”

“I’ll tell you if you don’t let on I told you, might make for an interesting night for you if Molly thinks she still has to persuade you.” He joked.

“Right, now I’m all ears.”

“Molly wants to buy the spare house, the one on the bank overlooking the warehouse. I guess she sees herself sailing on the lake in the boat you’re going to build for her. You never told me you wanted to build a boat.”

“We talked about it, years ago when we first started sailing, you and me.”

“Christ I remember, that was yonks ago. I thought that was just one of those that was just one of those things you speculate about when your on the water having fun. Never took you seriously.”

“No, neither did I. You know how is, Lucy grew up, went off to university and you start thinking what your going to do now you’re not chauffeuring them all over Surrey. I looked into the practicalities, even bought some plans. They got tucked in a draw somewhere. End of story.”

“Apparently not, Mol’s has other ideas.”

“We couldn’t uproot and come here to live…”

“I don’t think that’s her plan. I doubt we intend to use Fosse much in the winter. I’m sure Mol’s is talking second home, come here for the long summers and spend two or three years building your boat. Sound’s good to me.”

Ronald’s mind whirred thinking through the idea, it wasn’t an unattractive idea but he’d not negotiated a price so no point in laying it on.

“She has some wild ideas does Mol’s and, as usual, I’m the last to know.”

“I’d make you a price you couldn’t refuse, it’s no good to us. We’ve already too many building projects to attend to. I’d let you have for what we paid for it, as you know, we had to buy the lot to do the deal so you’d get a bulk discount price. It would be worth your while buying it, doing it up and selling it on, even if you never used it.”

“What we talking about,” Ronald asked, “round 100k mark?” He thought he’d shoot low, he knew just how much waterside properties were worth – in the UK.

“I could let you have it for fifty.”

“You’re joking, you bought that lot for two hundred thou’? You lucky b’.”

Simon wasn’t about to reveal he’d recoup most of his investment with the sale, it was cheap at fifty thousand, almost pocket money if Ronald was to retire.

They walked along in silence, Iddy and Molly way ahead, almost at the cottage, Ronald head bowed weighing up the pros and cons, justifying to himself that he wanted to do this. He knew it was a last chance, he had an option in his Partnership Agreement to retire at fifty, he had to exercise that in the next three months or wait until the next opportunity arose at fifty-five, he’d be too old then to start buggering around building boats. Wouldn’t realise such a high payout but it would be more than enough to live reasonably comfortably, even allowing for the horrendous upkeep of the Lucky Lady, the adroitly named Oyster 45. He mentally even started planning sailing her over for a season.

“Ok.” He suddenly announced to Simon’s surprise. “We’ll do it, but not a word to Mol’s, I want to be persuaded.”

“Christ, you serious Ron, you going pack it in?”

“Yep, got to make a decision soon or I’m stuck for another five years, that’s why the gal’s been pestering. Now I’ll have to learn how to build a boat.”

“That’s easy,” said Simon, ”there’s a boat building school about thirty kilometres along the coast, Iddy pointed it out as we sailed past. People come from all over the world to learn how to make traditional wooden boats.”

“Really, that’s too much of a coincidence, why do I feel I’m being ambushed. Hardly likely to take an old fart like me though.”

“I think you’ll find they take ‘old farts’ of all ages, it’s not an examination course, you pay your fee and do the course. We’ll look it up on the internet. Don’t forget, we haven’t done the deal yet, though I don’t expect any problems.”

“Does that mean I can top you’re offer…”

“Not unless you want Iddy to deal with, I don’t recommend it.” Simon laughed.

“What’s so amusing?” Iddy asked as he entered the cabin. The girls were sat on a mattress-topped bench that served as a sofa-cum-bed opposite the door.

“Boy’s talk. Nothing to do with you.”

“Oh, you’ll pay for that later Simon Cleaves…”

“How is it I have to tell you everything and yet you can share secrets with Molly?”

“Oh Simon grow up,” Molly snapped in mock impatience, “I don’t even know how you have the temerity to ask that. Where’s that darling husband of mine. Sweety, come and sit with me and hold my hand.” She called.

Simon looked at Iddy and gave her a wink and a slight nod of the head. ‘This will be fun.’ He mouthed, ‘Don’t say anything.’

“Sweety.” Molly called again.

“Hold on Mol’s. Simon did you know you’ve got goats.” He said coming in, “Half a dozen goats down by the lake, horns a couple of feet long. What are you scheming Molly, whenever you call me Sweety you’ve either pranged the car or it’s going to cost me money.”

“I was just thinking Sweety…” And thus began a long battle that lasted all the way back down the mountain, the car journey home, including at one point Simon being ordered to turn around and go ‘back for the corset, if that’s what it was going to take’, and most of the evening back in Bergen. Molly and Ronald took themselves off to bed, Ronald with a gleam in his eye and Molly wearing the quiet air of triumph, she knew just how to win the battle.


NaNo Word Count - 36710
Novel Word Count - 131424