Bondzie stopped off at the coffee machine and poured himself a mug full of such a tarry looking near-black ooze I had to refuse his raised eyebrows as an offer. It looked like something surgeons would draw from a smoker’s lungs. Thank god for the water flask. I followed him into his office. He closed the door, almost on me, with a swift but near-silent, definite ‘click’ of the latch, and stepped behind his desk. I perched on the edge, until seconds later a timid knock was followed by a junior clerk wheeling in a chair.
As I sat down, Bondzie pulled his screen around at an angle. He motioned for me to shift my seat to where we could both see it. A keyboard password, a mouse click or two, and up came the media player.
Bondzie broke the silence.
“She’s up on the top floor. Bitter as hell. Didn’t go the way she’d expected.”
“What did she expect?”
“You’ll see. And, try not to freak out.” He clicked on Play.
I have experienced many challenging writer situations in my time; getting so emotional whilst writing the death of a character that I could no longer see the laptop screen, failing to control my obsession with clichés, struggling to keep a lid on a fictional character crush and fighting a powerful urge to dance in the […]
via 10 Signs Your Book Is Ready To Come Out Of You #MondayBlogs #ASMSG #Writing — BlondeWriteMore
Re-blogging this entertaining post from a great blogger.
Daniel’s girlfriend caught on to his family’s expectations of Mrs Smith’s cooking while joining them in the dining room, all awaiting the bearer of the platters. The family drew out their chairs and sat. Sue and Daniel were the last to arrive.
She was quick of eye and caught many a surreptitious ‘sniff’ as she sat to Daniel’s left. After each one around the table had inhaled the not too pleasant odours from the kitchen, the conversation around the table died to an awkward silence, filled only with the quiet shuffle of fidgeting.
Mr. Smith’s reaction to the test of the approaching flavours was to pull in his chair tight against the table’s edge, as he pulled from his pocket a tube of peppermints. He sat bolt upright, avoiding everyone’s eyes.
Sue noted Daniel hooked his right ankle around the chair leg of Amy, the youngest daughter, beside him. On Amy’s other side, another brother had her far chair leg also hooked by an ankle.
Peter’s shoulders had slumped, and Rosie’s head was drooping. Thomas rose from his chair and fetched two more salt and pepper sets and another pot of mustard. Mister Smith motioned to Joanna, who began pouring and passing glasses of water. Large glasses.
The younger Peter passed around the paper napkin dispenser, and Sue noted how they all took at least three.
Daniel gripped her hand, and whispered “Don’t worry. It’ll be alright.”
Written at March meeting
Lynne McAennyl — my nom-de-plume for my developing career as a published writer.
I have been blogging ( at MSN groups (RIP), Multiply, Blogspot and just recently begun at Blogster) on topics such as Basenjis, N Z native birds, N Z education, or whatever moved me to express myself – often a response to writers’ groups’ challenges.
After gaining a Certificate in Creative Writing in 2011, winning three Rotorua Writers’ Group competitions and the annual Originality Award the same year, I completed a Diploma in Creative Writing in 2012.
I have an eBook I will be publishing in early December, an accounting textbook to complete sometime, and a NaNoWriMo draft or two to complete
There. I’ve put it on public record, my dream/plan …
I guess I’d better make sure it happens, yeh?