Daily Archives: November 8, 2006

NaNoWriMo 2006- Day Eight

It’s a good thing the day number follows the date, because I wouldn’t know which day it was. That’s what happens when you’re writing seven days a week. I’m having the time of my life, though, and it’s breathed fun into creating a story again. I seem to hit the 3,000 word a day wall, though. As soon as I get there, my brain turns to mush.

Here’s another (non-edited) excerpt:

Terry hung up on a laugh. The only other time I’d eaten ham at Betty’s, she’d made this half-melted brown sugar and pineapple sauce that could do absolutely nothing to meat that was so dry it looked and tasted like a wasp’s nest.

Claire raised an eyebrow at my lapse of language. I grimaced. “Betty’s cooking ham on Friday. They’re expecting me.” The corner of Claire’s mouth twitched into a smile. “You’d better not laugh, otherwise I’ll convince Betty she should invite you and Isabel as well. It shouldn’t be too difficult to do.”

“Right.” She raised her arm, dangling the diaper bag by its straps. “Explain that.”

“Answer a question, first. Is the only reason you want to know what’s happening to protect Isabel from me?”

Claire pinched her lips together. Sniffed. Plonked the bag on my desk. “Isabel tells me you won’t talk to her.”

“So?”

“For some insane reason —and we’ve discussed her lapse at length— she likes you. She’s worried about you. Thinks—”

“—I feel guilty. Hell, of course I do. You’d better stay away, Claire, because what I have may be catching.”

“And what do you have?”

“A bad case of alien contamination.”

“I see you haven’t lost your arrogance and conceit. I’m so relieved to see you’re still a jerk. For a moment, after you came back from the Dream World, I thought I’d be forced to like you. But that’s not the case. This is a case in point. Deciding what’s best for others. Only an arrogant jerk would do that.”

I sat down in my chair and burst out laughing. “Why is it that it always cheers me up when you’re being a bitch?”

Her mouth twitched. “It’s my uncanny sense of humour.” She placed her arms on either side of the bag and leaned forward. “I spent two hours of my precious spare time analyzing some pretty deadly stuff. If you didn’t want me involved, you should’ve gone to a private lab.” She pushed herself back up. “But then, you’d have to explain where it came from, wouldn’t you? Because they’d ask questions. Wait. That’s exactly what I’m doing. Fancy that.”

“Okay,” I said, with a pacifying gesture, “you made your point. I’ll tell you the whole thing.”

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