Writing Retreat (Patreon)

I'm currently at a writer's retreat. In this case that means I'm in a giant house in Louisiana with 14 other writers for a week doing basically nothing but writing. It's like big brother, only everyone is being really polite, and we have designated quiet hours. The amount of coffee that's been consumed is unholy. If any of you have ever wondered what happens on retreats, I basically write so much that I can't spell anymore and start mixing up my homonyms. It's great.

I'm working really hard to get a new, workable draft of Curses done. So far, I've been fairly happy with my progress, though I'm not as far as I'd hoped. Still, PROGRESS. Any word on the page is a victory, friends.

I know I still owe you guys the second part to that Jonah story. Hopefully, I'll post it next week because my draft will be done. If I get stuck on Curses while I'm here, I'll work on it. So again, hopefully you won't see it until next week. I want to Road House this draft. To pay penance, I will try to share tidbits of the new stuff I'm churning out.

Like this bit!

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well it’s good to know that the worst day in my life barely caused a hiccup for you. Here I worried all these years that I’d crushed or destroyed you. Good to know that was for not.”

She stepped into his space. “What, you’re mad that I’m not properly destroyed by what you did to me? That I’m not mourning your loss as I should?”

He dropped his arms, his hands going to his hips, his gaze to the floor. “No, Merit. I didn’t want any of that. I always hoped…” He cleared his throat, the words not coming easily to him. “That you’d moved on. Been happy.”

She poked his chest with a single claw. “Happy? Do I look happy?”

His jaw squared. “You did when I got here. You had a good life and friends—”

“I also had a claws and a prehensile tail!” She was shouting now, her claw still jabbing into his chest.

“Well that prehensile tail is really useful!” He shouted back.

“That doesn’t mean I want it!” She curled her fist, afraid that the next poke would be a shove.