Well, that does it, no more offensive line for me. I sprained my MCL, to which the orthopedist said, and I quote, “You are neither nineteen nor an athlete, so this is going to take some time to heal.”
Dammit. This is what I get for trying to, um, walk. It’s rather like a rubber band snapping deep inside your knee. That’s how it felt to me anyway. At least it didn’t tear; there is that, but it’s the knee where there’s already bone-on-bone contact, so it’s going to be difficult to recover the stability.
Physical therapy, here I come.
Moving on… it’s Wednesday, which means it’s time for another WIPpet!
This week’s WIPpet Wednesday* comes from Cleaning House, my current WIP. It’s a Queer Contemporary Fantasy novel set in Appalachia. Something new for me, but, I must say, I’m having a blast writing it thus far.
I’m knocking at the door of 50K now, and hope to be up to 65K by the end of NaNoWriMo.
Here’s my WIPpet math: 11/22/17: I’m rearranging some of the numbers this week. 272, that’s how many words are in this WIPpet.
Note: This WIPpet links directly to the last, so the portion in gray is from last week, just to get you up to speed.
“Lovely accent, by the way.” The messenger stopped at the stair head to smile at her then descended without saying more.
“I thought you were into men.” Mrs. Donright, 3J, peered at her from between the chains securing her door. “That was a woman, right?”
“Mind your own business.” Cent slammed her door closed and turned to press her back against it. Was that a man or a woman or…? Hell, she didn’t care. They were hot, and they’d flirted with her. That was enough. She turned to look out her peephole then sighed, locking every lock, turning around to lean against the door again as she stared at the package. The messenger had left soft, soil-colored smudges along its edge. Must work in a plant nursery or something, too.
Maybe I should take up gardening.
Being close and sweaty, their hands touching in the dirt as they worked side-by-side. Cent shivered as she looked at the package, flexing it to feel the thickness. Too thin to be a summons. She went to the kitchen for the scissors, but couldn’t find them so she opted for a paring knife, peeling open the light cardboard packing then sliding the knife beneath the envelope’s taped flap to open it, pulling out a single, handwritten message on yellowed notebook paper with spiral edges.
“Dear Centenary,” she read aloud.
“I need you to come home to help me clean up the old homestead so it can be put up for sale. I’ll keep you fed and you can stay at there or at my trailer until it’s sold.
“Mr. Jones down at Dryler’s store said he could use you ten hours or so a week, so that’ll give you some money, too.
“And some collections service man came by the other day to serve you papers. I gave him a fake address up in Carter County so he’d go away.
“Never mind him or what your mama said last time you spoke to her.
“Just get yourself home.
“I need your help.
“Great Aunt Tess
“P.S. Quit changing your phone number!”
Cent read the letter twice more, smirking when she realized she’d read it in Aunt Tess’ thick, Southern Appalachian accent.
Read more WIPpets from Cleaning House HERE.
*WIPpet Wednesday is a blog hop wherein writers share excerpts of their latest WIP. All genres and levels of accomplishment are welcome. The only stipulation is that the excerpt must coincide with the date in some manner. For example, on 10/8/14 you might share 10 lines from page 8, 8 paragraphs from chapter 14, or perhaps 18 sentences by doing WIPpet math and adding the day to the month. We’re flexible like that.