WeWriWa: Back to the Keyboard. The Story Continues . . .

It’s hard to settle into a routine that’s been interrupted by weeks of PT and fatigue. I’d read all my planned books on Kindle: 606 pages of Justin Cronin’s “City of Mirrors” and Koontz’s “Forever Odd,” binged on “The Handmaid’s Tale,” “Brain Dead,” “Black Sails” and caught up with “House of Cards” and “The Black List.” Last week’s WWW post was the first time I’d opened my WIP and it was a struggle to focus on the story when I could be napping, watching “Supernatural” reruns or scrolling Twitter (not posting, just browsing). Enough. That book ain’t gonna write itself! To get back in the mood for the final book in my “House of Terriot” shapeshifter series, PRINCE OF DREAMS, (and find an excerpt), I did a read-through of my outline and chapters written, and, FINALLY, went back to work on Chapter 3. I’d like to say the words just flowed, but in truth, they’ll need a heavy edit, but at least I have them to edit now!

To get you (and me) back into the story, I’d introduced shapeshifter prince, Kip Terriot to Tarot reader (and much more) Ophelia Brady in a cute-meet some months ago. Instant karma! But when he goes back about his family’s business and she shuts down her booth on Jackson Square for the night, Phe meets with an unpleasant surprise where she’d parked in a shadowed alley . . . 

Let go, let him have it! Ophelia’s sensible, though dazed, mind demanded. Eighty dollars wasn’t worth her life, yet still she clung to the cash box, an anger fueled by detested helplessness feeding her determination as surprise registered in the harsh lines of her attacker’s face. Dwarfing her in size, he’d obviously expected quick capitulation, a snatch-and-grab, not a tug-of-war that he ended with the quick pop of his fist against her jaw, dropping Phe to dirty cobblestones, her planets spinning wildly out of alignment. Cradling the explosive throb with her palm, she watched a blur of ragged tennis shoes dart down the alley.

Then the bed of her rusty aqua truck rocked. The effort of glancing up swamped Ophelia with dizzying sickness, making her doubt what she saw . . . a crouched figure, there then gone, leaping over the cab with a thump on the hood, before disappearing down the alley. She turned her head to follow but wooziness forced her to close her eyes against the nauseating roll.

Then he was there, kneeling beside her, her Knight of Cups.

Lost in the tender light in his eyes, Phe heard the rattle of her cash box as he set it on the stones beside her to ask, “Are you okay?” his voice rumbling with concern. 

“Now, very,” she mumbled, trying not to move her pounding jaw. “Where did you come from?”

More on this scene next week. Now, my big news: I’m heading back to the Tucson Book Festival in March to sign the reissue of my first (!) novel in Tell-Tale Publishing’s booth! Just the thought of escaping these 6 to 26 degree morning drives to work has me digging out my summer clothes in anticipation of going from this . . .

To this . . .

Until then, Chapter 4, here I come!

Happy Writing, Warrior pals!

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