Ask Jeeves

Patsy flew to the phone, delighted that no one older was available to take the privilege.   “Hello, Rochester resident?  Hi, George!  It’s Patsy!”  She always forgot that people on the other end of the phone couldn’t see you waving.  “Alice can’t talk right now, her mouth’s full, but mine isn’t.  What do you want to talk about?”

~The Rochesters

It's kinda-sorta awkward getting back into writing-blogging, you know.  I want to talk about all my projects right now but I hardly know where to begin. So... could you help me?  If I provide you with some general information about the stories I'm working on, could you be a little family of ducks and ask some questions to get me started?

Because, you know, it's so much easier to answer questions than it is to start from pure scratch and try to figure out on one's own what people want to know.  (I borrowed this idea from Jenny Freitag, by the way, and she's had great success with it so I thought why not try it myself.)  But to give you a little bit of Gen. Inf...

First of all there's The Rochesters.  This has been my mere working title for a long time now, but I'm seriously considering making it the for-reals title.  Because titles should tell readers what the story's about, and this particular story is about the Rochesters-- a big, noisy family that names pets after Dickens characters and plans birthday parties in the midst of wedding preparations and goes on picnic breakfasts without a Word of Warning and takes in an orphaned cousin for the summer.  I'm not at all sure that this title is eye-catching enough, but until/unless I can come up with a better one, it's doing very nicely.

Anyway, my goal is to finish TR's first draft by the end of August.  I'm hereby asking you all to hold me to that.   Currently it stands at about 35,500 words but I'm making some rather drastic changes to the beginning and of course intend to add quite a bit to the end as I'm not even halfway through the story.  Heehee.  I anticipate the final draft being some 85,000.  Ish.

I've blogged a good deal about the Rochesters and their quirks already, so you can check out their tag if you want a bit more to go on.  (Do ask questions, though.  Please.  It's the point of this post.  I should hate for the poor thing to go to waste.  Blog posts are people too, you know.)

Then there's the Jennifer story, so named because the main character's name is Jennifer.  I know.  I'm so original.  But hey, Jane Austen named one of her best books Emma, so I'm in good company.  (No, I am mistaken.  That is not good company; that is the best.)  This is one of my first forays into the world of contemporary stories, and I'm feeling quite liberated as I piddle with it.  No need for historical research or attempts at accuracy in the dialogue... nope, these characters live and work and recreate (that's the verb form of recreation, right?  Right?) much as I do.  Except that my main character's circumstances are quite different from mine.

In brief, Jennifer Farnham's parents were tragically killed in a car accident when she was nineteen (my MC's seem to have a running theme of dead parents... I hope that doesn't indicate something bad about me) and she was left with the responsibility of caring for her three-year-old brother Ethan.  Foregoing college plans and balancing a part-time job, keeping the rent paid at a tiny apartment and potty training a precocious toddler would keep her busy enough, but on top of it all she has to deal with her worldly and unsympathetic grandmother, who would like nothing more than to take over Jennifer's life and be in charge of both her and Ethan.   Yay, I have now succeeded in sounding exactly like the back of a cheesy Hallmark DVD.  Score.

Oh, and then we throw in a young married couple who take Jennifer and Ethan under their wings, so to speak, and the guy Jennifer had a crush on in tenth grade who is suddenly back in her life again, and an elderly lady from church with a tongue like a metal spatula (it's like a knife, only not quite as sharp, and it often accompanies cake) and you have a story that I'm having way too much fun with.  In my head, that is.  The amount that I actually have written is sad and pathetic and humiliating.  I'm working on that.  And my plans for August pretty much solely revolve around TR anyway, so I doubt I'll do much work on Jennifer and her crowd, but she's always at the back of my mind and will be waiting for me come September.  So ask questions about her, too.

And of course anything else you might like to know.
Please?
Help me?
You're the bestest.
Thank you.

Fourth Check-in {and the Half NaNo tag!}

This was what I was supposed to be doing this week.

And this is what I actually did this week...

{cooking}

{cleaning}

{school}

{reading}

{babysitting}

{traveling}

{spending time with family}

{sewing}

I am seriously embarrassed to tell you what my word count was for this week.  But I am a good girl, I am, and an honest one to boot, soooo...

I wrote 2,544 words this week.  

*cowers in shame*

This means my stats are as follows.

Word Count When This Piece of Craziness Began: 8,536
Total Word Count As Of Now:  25,045
Final Word Count Goal: 33,536
Daily Word Count Goal: 1,000
Average Daily Word Count: Eh, heh. Heh, heh, heh.
Words Remaining: 8,489

In other words, I have to do 8,489 words this coming week.  From Monday to Friday.  Do you think I can do it?  How about you?  What's your word count?  Are you feeling stressed and strained yet?

Favorite Bit Written This Week:

Francie sighed.  “Taste is immaterial.  Eggs are much less fattening than grilled cheese.”Alice choked back a laugh.  “Oh, Francie, really.  You’re not trying to reduce again, are you?”“Only a little.  For the wedding.  I have my reasons.”Alice raised her eyebrows.  “Well, it’s your lunch.”“You mean your funeral,” said Mark, peering into the pan and reeling back as if he’d been socked.  “If you don’t survive eating that thing, will you leave your bicycle to me?”Francie was saved from an annoyed retort by a thumping knock on the back door.   Alice dropped the plate of sandwiches into Sylvia’s startled hands and flew to get it.  Patsy beamed benevolently.  “It’s George,” she said, a bit after the fact, as Alice reentered the room with a tallish young man and Pumblechook.
Mark and Timmy immediately made kissing noises. 

Challenge Taken  This Week: Gasp! I forgot! 

Oops.

I'll do it next week.  I promise.  And I won't issue a new challenge this week, but instead I shall give all y'all a tag to fill out.  Everyone loves a tag, right? These things are fun and fun is good.

~What's the name of your project? When did you first come up with the idea? And how long have you been working on it?

~Sum up your novel in five words or less.

~Who is your favorite character?  Tell us about him or her.

~Where does your novel take place?  What time period?

~Do you have a theme song for your story?  What is it?

~What's been the hardest part to write so far?

~Which chapter was your favorite so far?

~Can you share one of your favorite snippets?  (One you haven't shared on your blog already)

~Are any aspects of your story drawn directly from your own life?  Give us an example.  

~Your main character gets dumped into a big city in the modern era (or if you're writing a contemporary work, he/she gets dumped in medieval London).  How does he/she respond?

~Who's the funniest character in your story? Tell us why! Give examples! Support your argument.  :D

~If you were forced to eliminate a character from your story--just wash them clean off the slate--who would it be?

~Do you plan on writing a sequel to your novel?

There you have it! I'm opening this tag to anyone and everyone who wants to participate.  Whether you're doing Half NaNo, full NaNoWriMo, or just writing without a specific challenge, go ahead and fill out the questions if you're interested.  Do please leave a link in the comments so I can see your answers! 

The Third Check-In

You know what I said last time about not meeting the goal?  Yeah.  That again.  But you know what?  I'm not letting it bother me.  Life is tremendously busy for me just now, and the fact that I got about 5200 words written this week (erm... last week... yes, this post is late) is good enough for me.  Will I finish Half NaNo, at the rate I'm going?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  But at this point, I'm just enjoying the ride.

Are you?

Word Count When This Piece of Craziness Began: 8,536
Total Word Count As Of Now:  22,501 [before any writing was done today]
Final Word Count Goal: 33,536
Daily Word Count Goal: 1,000
Average Daily Word Count: too tired to do the math... but it's less than 1,000.  Heehee.
Words Remaining: 11,025

Challenge Taken This Week: I stuck in a pirate!  Well, I stuck in a pirate in a character's imagination.  Yes, that counts.  It's my challenge, after all.  :D

“We could get all kinds of people to come and stay.”  Mark stopped to pick up a stone and attempt to dribble it as he walked.  “Travelers from all over the world, maybe.  And they could tell stories around the dinner table.”
“And show us their jewels and treasures from the caves of Arabia,” said Celia dryly.
“Maybe they’d even be pirates!” Timmy’s eyes widened.  “If one was a pirate, we could keep him.”
“In Pumblechook’s doghouse?” inquired Celia.
“No, silly.  He could share a room with Mark and me.  You’d let a pirate have your bed, wouldn’t you, Mark?  If he had an eye patch?”
“Why couldn’t the pirate have your bed, if it comes to that?”
“Because I like my bed.”
“Well, I like mine, and I’m not letting any One-Eyed Hook come and take it away from me.  Pirates don’t take baths, you know.”
“I think I’ll be a pirate when I grow up,” said Timmy, awed.

Favorite Snippet Written This Week:

This lake was quite different, and it was a lovely, wild kind of different.  For starters, the beach was practically nonexistent—a thin stretch of pebbly sand with rocks here and there and no semblance of order whatsoever.  The lake itself was rather small, and Sylvia could see clearly to the other side.  Pine trees, which Aunt Janet had never approved of because they were wont to shed like St. Bernards, studded the banks, and the air smelled sharp and clean and cold, not sun-warmed and proper like it did in the mountains.  “Isn’t it gorgeous?” said Celia comfortably.

Challenge for Next Week:  Use a word you've never used before (and I'm referring to fifty-cent dictionary words, not swear words, as I hope you realize).  Put it in your narrative or casually drop it in a favorite character's dialogue--it's your call.  Don't forget to post the snippet containing your word on your blog and drop me a link in the comments!

Did you do last week's challenge?  How'd your week go overall?  Do share in the comments!

Check-In the Second

Has it really been an entire week since the last check-in?  Well, if time flies when you're having fun it must also fly when you're pulling your hair out to find time to write.

Unfortunately I didn't quite meet my 6,000 word goal this week, but I came very close.  The stats...

Word Count When This Piece of Craziness Began: 8,536
Total Word Count As Of Now:  17,380
Final Word Count Goal: 33,536
Daily Word Count Goal: 1,000
Average Daily Word Count: 953
Words Remaining: 16,156

Challenge Taken This Week: I followed my own command and wrote in a person I encountered this week-- to be specific, the little boy I nanny/babysit every Monday.  He's a darling, but is prone to frequent bouts of crying if he's too long away from his mother, which is a bit of a frustration each week.  So it was great fun to channel that frustration into an entire chapter about a baby who will not. stop. crying.

Perhaps he’d lost his hold on the bunny blanket.  She dropped the rest of the silverware onto the counter—it didn’t matter now, he was awake anyway—and hurried to the nursery.  Give him back his blanket, roll him over on his side so he’ll go back to sleep. She could do this.  It wasn’t as if he was howling.  He was just… crying.

The noise subsided as she got closer—perhaps he had gone back to sleep.  Or perhaps he was comforted by the sound of footsteps nearing.  It was nice to think that a baby might be comforted by her presence.  She could handle this; she was responsible.  But as she peeped over the edge of the crib and made eye contact with Isaac, he immediately set up a howl.  It was most definitely a howl this time, a howl of the most howlish sort.  Wolves, she reflected, might take lessons from this child.

Favorite Snippet Written This Week:

“This isn’t the right stuff,” said Celia, taking a long, deep sniff from the bottle of hairspray she held.  “What on earth is this anyway, Francie?”

“Hairspray,” said Francie dryly.  “I realize the label is in Mandarin Chinese, so it would make sense that you would have to ask—”

Celia pursed her lips.  “Come on, Francie, I know it says hairspray, but you and Alice kind of have just the tiniest tendency to reuse bottles.  Don’t you remember the time you put talcum powder in an old cornstarch container and the gravy was absolutely disgusting?”

Challenge for Next Week: Put a pirate in your story.  It doesn't matter how-- have him sail into the nearest harbor for real, or let him appear in a pretend game, or even mention that someone's reading a book about him.  Whoever he is, make sure to give him a name and at least a sentence or two, somewhere in your story.  An eye patch is optional but recommended.

Did you do last week's challenge?  How'd your week go overall?  Do share in the comments!

First Check-In

Hello there, me fellow Half-NaNo-ers!  How'd the first week go? Okay, so technically it's not been a whole week.  But I've decided to do my check-ins/progress reports on Saturday evenings when I've finished writing for the week, and today will be the very first.  (Yes, thank you, my dear.)

In three days I wrote three thousand and twelve words, which puts me right where I wanted to be at the end of this first sort-of-week.  My goal is 1,000 words per day, as I don't plan to write on Sundays or on Thanksgiving Day (hey, every author needs a holiday, and I'll be at my grandmother's all day anyway).

I'm going to ape the Real NaNo's dashboard pages here and record my stats for the week... it's way too much work to do it every day, and frankly I "don't have the time or the want-to."  (That's a Grandma's Attic quote from Ma O'Dell, for your random information.)

Word Count When This Piece of Craziness Began: 8,536
Total Word Count As Of Now:  11,642
Final Word Count Goal: 33,536
Daily Word Count Goal: 1,000
Average Daily Word Count: 1,004
Words Remaining: 21,894

And I'm adding a few statistics of my own...

Character Discovered This Week-
Patsy Rochester, aged four-almost-five.  Okay, so she was in the story before this week.  Picky, picky, picky.  But it was only this week that I finally was able to put a face to the name.  And once I came across this picture of Shirley Temple, it was one of those "well, DUH" moments.  :D  Blogging world, meet Patsy.  Patsy, here are a bunch of fun and crazy people.

Favorite Snippet Written This Week-

Here the handwriting changed to something less neat but much prettier, with bubbles over the I’s instead of dots. This is Francie, and I think it would be much better if we all tell you about ourselves individually instead of leaving the whole thing to Alice.  Thank goodness she’s grown out of the habit of pinching my elbow every time I do something she doesn’t like, or else this part would be pretty sloppy.  Now she’s saying I had no business telling a thing like that to you who hardly even know us, but I believe you should know the worst about people from the start, that way you won’t get an unpleasant surprise.  Now Alice says that last comma should have been a semicolon, and I said that if she wants to dictate every detail of this letter she may as well just write the whole—oh, wait, never mind.

Challenge for Next Week-
Observe the people you see/meet this week--at the grocery store, at the library, at church, whatever--and stick someone into your story as a side character.  Ideally, use someone you don't actually know very well.  Change the name, of course, if you know his/her name, but try to portray him/her as accurately as possible in your story.  The character need only appear once if you want, but just add some flair to your WIP by introducing an interesting "extra."

Half begun is well done (or something like that)

Okay, so it's actually "Well begun is half done, otherwise entitled Let's Tidy Up the Nursery."  But I'm paraphrasing it for my own devices.  (Name the movie the quote comes from, can you?)

Last year I did NaNoWriMo.  The full challenge: 50,000 words in the month of November.  It was grueling, it was fun, it was exhausting, it was invigorating, it was mind-numbing, it was inspiring, and it took a HUGE chunk of my time.  

This year, I can't do NaNo.  This weird thing called Life has zoomed down upon me, snatched up my spare time and kidnapped it for its own uses.  I'm doing ransom negotiations but those things take time, and since time is exactly what I lack at present, I'm getting nowhere fast.  

However.  Seeing all the excitement over NaNo that's brewing and stewing around the blogosphere is making me itch to participate.  And so I... have a plan.

("Oh, Percy, do be SERIOUS!"
"I am serious.  Deadly serious.")

Introducing Half NaNo

November 1-30, 2012

Rules:

-You must commit to write 25,000 words for a novel you have previously started.  The ideal project is one that you have already outlined but has suffered from lack of inspiration.

-You must put the button below on your blog if you wish to participate in Half NaNo and refer to it as such.

-You are invited (but not required) to leave your blog URL in a comment on this post so I can link to you-- I'd like to have a list of participants on my sidebar.

-You must enjoy yourself and do this because you want to-- if you do it from a sense of duty or obligation or "well, I really SHOULD get at least SOME writing done" then you're doing it wrong.

Oh, and if you care to hop over here during November and tell us all how you're doing, that wouldn't be a bad idea either.  

Happy scribbling... The Rochesters and I will see you on November 1st!

1,000 Daily Challenge: Day Six

Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and cannot remain silent.

~Victor Hugo

During this week, I've listened to an awful lot of music.  Instrumental pieces, especially movie soundtracks, really help to get my creative juices flowing.  (Why is it called creative juice?  Juice is not particularly creative.  Why not creative Hawaiian punch?  Now that's creative.  Disgusting, but creative.)

You can see my generalized writing playlist here.  I'm working on compiling specific, customized playlists for each of my WIPs, but they're not finished yet.  So this week I just listened to that one and skipped the songs that didn't fit the mood of what I was writing.  Some of my favorites for Sky include Victoria and Albert (#27 on playlist), I've Seen Hell (#32),  Braveheart End Credits (#37), The Riders of Rohan (#39), Memories Can Weigh You Down (#43), Return of the Lion (#48) and Tara's Theme (#59).

What do you like to listen to when you write?

Snippets from today's work (all written while listening to the above songs)...

Margot couldn’t help but complain inwardly that Mother had never made a mistake in directing the servants the whole time the men were gone. Yet as soon as Philippe came back, everyone suddenly snapped to attention and bowed and scraped and scuttled out of his way, giving him far more respect than Mother had ever commanded.

But of course Mother hadn’t commanded anyone’s respect, whereas Philippe snapped his fingers and respect dropped into his lap.

“They’ll get out. They’re probably out already. Philippe’s rounding up the men from the village and they’ll capture all those idiotic bandits before the hour’s out. You’ll see.” Speaking firmly gave Margot a strength she did not feel.

Her hand was trembling as she pounded on the door. How odd—she hadn’t noticed that until now. Her other hand was shaking as well. In fact, her whole body was trembling. Perhaps it was an effect of the smoke.

“Perhaps they’re fighting the fire,” said Fina hopefully.

Margot held her breath, willing that gesture to somehow quell the nauseous dread rising up in her. “I’ve seen no one going to fight the fire, Fina. The road is empty.”

So how did you do this week?  My total is 7, 158 words.  For a girl who's been averaging 300-500 words a week until now, I call that good progress...  

...but that doesn't mean I'm doing it again next week.  

1,000 Daily Challenge: Day Four

Sorry this one is a day late! I didn't get on the computer yesterday evening, so although I finished my writing quota for the day, I hadn't the time to blog about it. But here I am now, trying to find a funnier idiom than "better late than never" and failing miserably.

Yesterday was another new experience for me.  Color of the Sky has been all about new experiences so far, I think.  (It's a genre so different from anything I've written before, how could it be otherwise?)  Until yesterday, I'd never written anything serious about danger or terror.  My stories have always been so happy-go-lucky, but yesterday I dabbled for the first time in cold perspiration.  (Ewww.  Bad choice of words there...)

It's pretty different, writing about fear.  I've written embarrassment, I've written anger, I've written nervousness and apprehension-- but never sweating, shaking terror.  The scene I had to write was hard.  There are parts of it that I don't like at all.  But I can rework it later.  And you're probably tired of hearing the "just keep writing and edit later" mantra so I'll stop that.

I made it to 1,182 yesterday, and when I was finished I felt almost as drained as the characters themselves.  It's not easy, trying to figure out how much to include and how much to leave to the reader's imagination.  What to describe and what to state as simple fact.  How much drama to put in and how much numbness.  Whether to lighten the mood with a touch of humor or save it for another, more appropriate time.  (I agonized over that one and eventually went with the second.  There's a time and place for everything, and jokes aren't usually appreciated when you're being attacked by bandits.)

But then, nobody ever said writing was easy.  Or if they did, they lied.  (That sounds profound and deep, but I really stole it off a refrigerator magnet.  Refrigerator magnets tend to sound like that.)

Sometimes when she could not sleep, Margot would make lists in her head—lists of the tasks she wanted to accomplish the next day, lists of ideas for a story she would tell Fina, lists of her favorite things. The last list was practically never-ending. Tonight, however, she was in the mood to list all the things she particularly hated. Scratchy blankets, thistles in one’s foot, soured milk and brothers who did not care were battling it out for the top spot when she became aware of a steady thudding sound from below.

Voices drifted upwards, voices speaking a rough peasant form of the Occitan dialect. Margot could only hear a few words, and those she heard were not the kind Mother would have wanted her to hear. She was tempted to clamp her hands over Fina’s innocent ears, but she was too frightened to move.

Somehow it seemed safer to cower by the window instead of on the bed.

“Are you praying, Margot?” Obediently, Fina slung an arm around Margot’s shoulders and gripped the windowsill with her other.

“As hard as ever I can, at least I was until now—I can’t concentrate and do that at the same time, so you pray while I tell you where to step.”

The most horrible part was flinging her leg over the sill and finding nothing but soft, yielding air all around. After that, once her foot found a tough and solid vine, it got easier.

Before she could even begin to formulate an idea as to what to do next, a new sound struck her ears—one that made her blood run colder than it ever had during any of Chantal’s ghost stories.

1,000 Daily Challenge: Day Three

Today I had the fun of introducing a new character to The Color of the Sky.  Until today, the only people who had put in real appearances in the story (and did not merely show up in fragments under my "Things to be added later" section) were Margot and Fina (the sisters around whom the story revolves), their mother, Philippe (their brother) and Chantal (an elderly maidservant).  But today I was privileged enough to write two scenes that featured Bernard Anthoine.  And the act gave me great pleasure, great pleasure indeed.  Because, you see, Bernard's been formulating in my mind for some time (and I character cast him as soon as I thought of him... see below... cough, cough) but until today I had yet to commit him to Word document.

That's not Ivanhoe.  That's Bernard.
Except that he doesn't wear chain mail. 

Snapping twigs crackled in the bracken, and Margot’s heart had barely enough time to speed up before a dirt-streaked man ducked under a low-hanging branch and was facing them. Running would be futile, she was sure. Besides, he had a bow slung from one shoulder. She wondered how much an arrow would hurt, and how long it would take for them to die.

Beside her, Fina stiffened. The disturbance of the underbrush and Margot’s sudden silence spoke volumes—she knew there was danger. Her hand groped slowly but surely for Margot’s and clasped it. The mild pain of Fina’s fingernails digging into her palm brought Margot to her senses. Whatever might happen, she could not stand here staring into this fellow’s deer-brown eyes all day long. If he killed them, he killed them. So be it. At least they would not have to suffer hunger pangs any longer.

“What is your business here?” She tried to make her voice as authoritative as possible, aping Philippe’s most stentorian tones.

“My business here?” The man stood up straight, pushing swaying leaves away from his face and tugging a stray one from his tousled blond hair, but he touched neither his bow nor the knife at his belt. “My business is to do a bit of hunting for my family—perhaps a better question would be to ask what business two maids have out here, unescorted.” There was no anger or threat in his voice, merely interest.

“And if we are unescorted? What is it to you?” Margot squeezed Fina’s hand so hard she could hear the bones creak, and hastily she loosened her grip.

“Nothing whatsoever,” said the man, smile lines creasing the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Only that I should not like to see you come to any harm. These woods are not the safest place to be out alone, you know.”

Margot narrowed her eyes. His face had a weatherbeaten kindness about it, and he had still not reached for his bow. Perhaps—just perhaps—he did not intend to kill and eat them after all. (Just when her terrified imaginings had expanded to include cannibalism she did not know, but it was at least slight relief to know that he did not intend to do anything of the sort at present.)

~The Color of the Sky, chapter three

Oh, and final count for today is 1,057.  I wasn't aiming for 1500 today.  No, seriously! I wasn't!

1,000 Daily Challenge: Day Two

Today I was not in a writing mood.  Today I was in a sewing mood.  I drafted a bodice pattern, cut out said bodice pattern, pinned the pattern to the cloth and cut out the pieces, sewed the bodice together and discovered it was too small, made notes to enlarge the seam allowance tomorrow... oh, I was supposed to tell you about my writing today, wasn't I?

Pearl S. Buck put it really, really well.  "Your mind must know it has got to get down to work."  Period.  End of story. No, actually, beginning of story.  Stop woolgathering, stop waiting for the right time (or the right pair of socks, the right cup of tea, the right chair to sit in, the right time of day...) and just write.

That's what I did today.  I wrote 1,529 words--most of them in The Color of the Sky--and it was kind of like squeezing blood out of a turnip (although why anyone would want blood from a turnip is beyond me... gross).  They didn't flow freely.  They didn't come easily.  They don't look very good now that I'm rereading them.  They didn't even sound very good when I read them out loud to my sister.

But I wrote them, and that's what counts.  Write now.  Edit later.  EDIT.  LATER.  Willpower, Amy.  WILLPOWER.

On a happier note, I've found Fina!  Fina, in case I haven't made this clear already (can't remember...) is Margot's younger sister, and originally she was supposed to look kind of like Buttercup in The Princess Bride... but I wasn't altogether pleased with that.  Then today I was looking through some medieval-style paintings on Google Images (I collect pictures for inspiration) and bang, there she was, looking at me.  Well, not actually at me.  She was kind of looking off to the side; the middle distance, as my sister calls it.  

It's her face that counts, not the Roman-maiden clothing and the wild hair.  Fina's hair is about that color, only not quite so floating and mermaid-ish.  I'm vastly pleased with this picture on the whole, though.  Now for snippets.

They sat quietly together as the sun dappled through the thicket and revealed the grass stains and streaks of mud on their clothing, silent testimony to the terrible race through the night.

Father had always said that Jacques should save money on scythes and use Chantal’s tongue for harvesting instead. Mother, in her turn, had always shaken her head and hushed Father, for fear that Chantal might hear. She had been Mother’s maidservant since Mother was a child, and to offend her was easier than tripping on the loose brick in the stairway to the kitchen. Philippe had once said (quietly, of course) that if Chantal hadn’t been bound to Mother’s service for life, she would have left the manor before Fina was born. Margot had somehow managed to receive a congenital talent for angering Chantal, a talent that had manifested itself from the time she was two years old and had told Chantal that her nose looked like a snake’s nose. (Chantal’s nose did bear serpentine attributes, but Chantal had not taken kindly to the comparison.)

The anger she had heard in Philippe’s tones earlier had faded a bit, but it was still crouched and ready to spring at any moment.

Dewdrops melted on the web, so very slowly but steadily just the same. The owner of the web uncoiled himself from his wispy little nugget of a bed in the corner and set out for his morning walk across his tiny kingdom. Margot briefly wondered if she ought to be repulsed by the fuzzy black body, but somehow she seemed like the intruder in this peaceful place, with the spider as the proud and condescending host.

So how'd you do today?  Are you blogging your progress?  Care to share a snippet or four?  Leave me a link in the comments!

1,000 Daily Challenge: Day One

This is not me, but I rather wish it was.

I made it!... for today at least.  One thousand, one hundred and twenty words have been added to The Rochesters, and today's theme was "write now, edit later."  I'm not tremendously pleased with what I've written, but I keep reminding myself to just keep swimming and wait to revise 'til it's all finished.

We'll have to wait and see how well THAT goes.  They don't call me "Miss Compulsive Tweaker" for nothing.  Oh, wait, they don't call me that at all...

...well, they should.

I didn't get up early to write today, nor did I do anything special.  I just sat down at the computer at three different intervals throughout the day and pecked out a few hundred words.  It wasn't really that hard... which is why I'm going to make myself do 1500 tomorrow.  I'm still calling this the 1,000 Daily Challenge for two reasons: a) because I don't like changing the names of things unless I have to (it tends to confuse people) and b) because just in case I don't make 1500 tomorrow, I'll still have the 1,000 to fall back on and won't feel quite as guilty.

Ahem moving on.  Snippets from today's work, here we come!  (All of these hail from The Rochesters.)

“Actually, Lemmins is spelled with two M’s and an I. L-e-m-m-i-n-s.”

“Really?” The girl at the counter wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never heard it spelled that way… are you sure?”

Sylvia was tempted to say, “Oh, yes of course. It’s actually Lemons. How silly of me, not to be able to spell my own name,” but she reflected that this might be considered rude and decided not to make remarks.

Alice reached out a dreamy hand for a butter knife, slit the envelope, and ever-so-slowly pulled the letter out. She was evidently enjoying the drama of the moment.

Francie appeared in the doorway. “Why’d it get so quiet down here all of a sudden? Is anyone dead?”

“It’s a letter from Aunt Maria,” said Celia in hollow tones.

“Oooooh.” Francie flew across the scratched linoleum to peer over Alice’s shoulder.

Alice read very fast, mouthing words to herself occasionally as the others waited with held breath. Sylvia still had only a vague idea of what was going on, but the melodramatic excitement in the air was contagious. She was going to start sneezing with the jitters in a minute, she just knew it.

Alice let out a huff. “Okay, well, [Mark] says he won’t be a groomsman. Period.”

“Then don’t make him be one,” said Celia. “Let him sit unnoticed in one of the pews with a paper bag over his head if he wants to. Case closed. I’m going back to—”

Alice caught the hem of Celia’s skirt and dragged her back to the bed. “It’s not that simple.”

It sounded simple enough to Sylvia. Besides which, permitting Mark to sit in church with a paper bag over his head sounded entertaining, but she was keeping her mouth shut.

The Challenge

I love this quote... but find it difficult to look at this piece of inspiration
without cringing at the omitted apostrophe.  ARGHHHHH.

I read inspirational writing blogs.  I write a few inspirational posts of my own.  I read lots of books.  I drink tea.  I read more books.  I collect writing quotes.  I scribble ideas in a notebook.  I stick my nose back into my books.  

And I get, oh, maybe a thousand words written.

Per week.

Ouch.

And that's why I'm challenging myself next week.  On Monday, August 13th, I will write one thousand words.  Or more, if possible.  On Tuesday, August 14th, I will write one thousand words.  Or more.  On Wednesday I will do the same.  You get the idea.  I'll continue through Saturday, and each day I'll blog about my progress and share a couple of snippets.  It's motivating, you know.  Motivating to know that thirty of you will be holding me accountable.  (You ladies are amazing, by the way.)

Writer's block, prepare to meet thy doom on the sword of Sabrina Starr.

P.S. Does anyone want to join me?  Leave a link in the comments? Six thousand words next week--will you do it?