A: I need the music loud and big tonight!
D: How about some panpipes? I have a lovely set somewhere over–
A: No, D – not any of your bard-y fireside music. I need big – it needs to be heard over a body of water – music.
D: Ah, pipes, then?
A: And drums.
D: Um, A. . . are we going to war?
A: War? Silly Druid, wars are for politicians. No, we are celebrating. You and TC are in charge of the music and probably the singing too, since I can’t carry a tune.
D: What are we celebrating – and what are you bringing to this hootenanny?
A: Me, of course!
D: Now you’re just being obscure.
A: Says the Druid. First, I’m bringing me to the hootenanny, and possibly potato chips and dip. Second, my word count for Camp NaNoWriMo has been validated.
D: How many words?
D: And the book?
A: Congratulate me first.
D: . . .That’s stupendous, A. Way to go.
A: With sincerity, and possibly enthusiasm, if you can manage it.
D: I never doubted you for a moment, A.
A: That’s better. The book is well on its way. They’re in 1745, they’re realizing that perhaps they were sent there for a reason, and Bonnie Prince Charlie is about to call the clans. All in all, good times. Word vomit, but good times.
D: I’m proud of you A.
A: Thanks, D. Me too!
D: Okay, that was nice. Get back to work, woman.
A: What about my hootenanny?
D: Don’t you watch TV? That always ends with crazy masks and zombies.
A: Right. How could I forget? No more Netflix for you, D.
A’s Telling the Tale Tonight, Baby!
The Creative Writing Challenge continues at the Community Storyboard. Today’s prompt: Pick an object in your room, and write a story. I have sleep (or lack thereof) on the brain with “Bed Head.” For the best story that popped up at the Community Storyboard, check out Ionia’s, “Polly wants a what?” Hands down my favorite of the day.
Also, huge congratulations are in order to Charles and Briana – thank *you* for letting us be a part of your respective book promotions. It was a lot of fun. Wishing you both a ridiculous amount of success!
Finally, here’s a little something from Part 3 of The Book, i.e. something I salvaged from the word vomit:
It beat at her. Tiny movements bombarded her. Breathing hurt her ears, so complete was the absence of noise.
Maureen opened her eyes, slowly acknowledging that this was no dream – no nightmare to be avoided by deeper dreaming.
Nothing met her gaze. The darkness absolute. Her shriek rose from deep within her gut.