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Running a bit late again. *sigh* This is driving me nuts. I’m not really any busier than usual, but the busy is very distracting for some reason and writing has not been easy to manage. What you’ve been reading has been ultra first draft, almost to the point of being a prewrite. This week is no exception, as I continue to find my way to where I’m going. Hopefully next week I’ll have things scheduled ahead of time, as is my preference.

If you don’t already know, our wonderful hostess is K.L. Schwengel. If you haven’t checked out her new website, you really should. It’s beautiful. She’s got a book coming out soon that I had the privilege of beta reading and let me tell you, you don’t want to miss it. Especially those of you who like an attractive bad boy. 😉 The protag is like spicy hot chocolate, dark and mysterious, with just enough sweet to offset the bitterness and a bit of a kick you weren’t expecting. The name of the book is Bound in Shadow.

Math: date + last digit of year – 3rd digit of year = 9 + 5 – 1 = 13 paragraphs

Character descriptions:

Arvid 5’6″, dark copper skin, long brown hair, brown eyes, athletic build.

Taiamuk 6’3″, long red hair, gray eyes, a multitude of freckles, numerous scars, muscles a la Jackie Chan. Notable scars include three stab wounds on his right side and a long, horizontal gash across his chest. Owns one piece of clothing: trousers.

Necessary Context

Comes right after last week’s post.

Days passed with no change in Tai’s demeanor. The warmer nights afforded them more space in the bedroll and the distance between them, however miniscule, increased. He kept silent, spent no time inside during the warmer daylight hours, and avoided looking at Arvid like he believed she carried a flesh-melting disease that spread through eye contact.

Meanwhile, Arvid pretended she lived in the shack alone. Though she prepared meals for two, she ate without waiting. She treated her burns without asking for help, worked on a new pair of soft boots from rags to while the sedentary hours, and bathed in the evening as if no one else occupied the room.

With diligent care, her feet healed enough to allow her to stand on them within a week. It hurt and she needed her boots to traverse the worn, wood floor, but she enjoyed the feeling of using her neglected muscles again. She moved through a simple flexibility routine, ignoring pain when it bothered her and focusing on the tension easing with each long stretch.

To celebrate her recovery, she raided her dwindling stash of herbs and dried berries to concoct a sweet tea. Halfway through the process, she realized she made enough for two out of habit. Chagrined and embarrassed by the mistake, she resolved to drink the double portion herself. She drank the first steaming cup, lingering over the fruity, floral aroma too long. Before she finished, she heard Tai returning. She hurried to down the last mouthfuls and refill the cup, to be sure he understood she made the tea for herself, not him.

The moment he opened the door, however, her intentions vanished like an ill-remembered dream. She jumped to her feet and offered the cup. Scowling at her outstretched arm, she wondered what induced it and her feet to betray her like that. She took good care of them, after all, gave them proper exercise, stretched them to keep the muscles lithe and healthy. Not only that, they both enjoyed a prolonged rest while she treated her injuries. So why this sudden treachery?

Without looking at her, Tai took the cup and drank. Arvid suspected if the liquid had been any cooler, he’d have downed it in a gulp. She turned her scowl on the fire and started mixing together ingredients to make a hearty potage.

In a tone as deep as her voice allowed, she muttered to herself while she worked. “How nice to see you on your feet again, Arvid. It must be a relief after all this time.”

In her own voice she went on. “How nice of you to notice, Tai. It is, indeed, such a pleasure.”

“And this tea! It’s delicious. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. I’m glad you like it. It’s my own recipe.”

“Is it really? You never cease to amaze me, Arvid. You’re so creative with our limited resources. I’d have starved or poisoned myself long ago if not for you.”

Baffled over what she saw in him to make her, and her arms and feet, apparently, like him, she looked over to try to find a reasonable excuse for her behavior. She expected his eyes to be elsewhere. Instead, he stared at her with an expression she took to be something between incredulity and constipation.

Embarrassed at being caught looking at him and grouchy over his lack of thanks, she snapped at him. “What’s your problem?”

I had a song in mind to go with today’s post. It didn’t have anything to do with the writing, because I use music sparingly when writing, but I thought it sort of fitted. I used to think it was a funny song, but when I looked it up on YouTube, I found the video very offensive. *pulls out soapbox* If you are a healthy-weight person, don’t ever assume it’s because you have superior self-control to an overweight person. In high school, I did 90 minutes of aerobics and up to 1000 sit-ups a day (Yes. 1K.). In college, I continued to pursue physical fitness, coaching swim, lifting weights, rocking the balance beam, and hitting the dance floor with a vengeance. (Though I did drop down to 300 sit-ups. Of course, those were at a sharp incline.) And while my friends noshed their burgers and fries and sipped their sodas, I ate salad and drank water. Nevertheless, I remained medically overweight until after my fourth child was born, when I discovered I had some potentially deadly food allergies. *puts soapbox away*

So. In lieu of THAT video, I give you Hop To It, from Shelley Duvall’s Mother Goose Rock N’ Rhyme, cuz I kind of need it today. Shan: This may be another of those videos Annalise questions. 😉

To join WIPpet Wednesday…

  1. Post a snippet of your WIP that relates to the date
  2. Thank K.L. Schwengel
  3. Link up here
  4. Enjoy good writing
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