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 Iâ€™d eaten ham at Bettyâ€™s, sheâ€™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. â€œBettyâ€™s cooking ham on Friday. Theyâ€™re expecting me.â€ The corner of Claireâ€™s mouth twitched into a smile. â€œYouâ€™d better not laugh, otherwise Iâ€™ll convince Betty she should invite you and Isabel as well. It shouldnâ€™t be too difficult to do.â€
â€œRight.â€ She raised her arm, dangling the diaper bag by its straps. â€œExplain that.â€
â€œAnswer a question, first. Is the only reason you want to know whatâ€™s happening to protect Isabel from me?â€
Claire pinched her lips together. Sniffed. Plonked the bag on my desk. â€œIsabel tells me you wonâ€™t talk to her.â€
â€œFor some insane reason â€”and weâ€™ve discussed her lapse at lengthâ€” she likes you. Sheâ€™s worried about you. Thinksâ€”â€
â€œâ€”I feel guilty. Hell, of course I do. Youâ€™d better stay away, Claire, because what I have may be catching.â€
â€œAnd what do you have?â€
â€œA bad case of alien contamination.â€
â€œI see you havenâ€™t lost your arrogance and conceit. Iâ€™m so relieved to see youâ€™re still a jerk. For a moment, after you came back from the Dream World, I thought Iâ€™d be forced to like you. But thatâ€™s not the case. This is a case in point. Deciding whatâ€™s best for others. Only an arrogant jerk would do that.â€
I sat down in my chair and burst out laughing. â€œWhy is it that it always cheers me up when youâ€™re being a bitch?â€
Her mouth twitched. â€œItâ€™s my uncanny sense of humour.â€ She placed her arms on either side of the bag and leaned forward. â€œI spent two hours of my precious spare time analyzing some pretty deadly stuff. If you didnâ€™t want me involved, you shouldâ€™ve gone to a private lab.â€ She pushed herself back up. â€œBut then, youâ€™d have to explain where it came from, wouldnâ€™t you? Because they’d ask questions. Wait. Thatâ€™s exactly what Iâ€™m doing. Fancy that.â€
â€œOkay,â€ I said, with a pacifying gesture, â€œyou made your point. Iâ€™ll tell you the whole thing.â€