Day Twelve #nanowrimo

day 12Words for the day: 2144 (target was 2.5K)
T-shirt: 2010 Official ‘Snakes and Ladders’ NaNoWriMo t-shirt
Best music vibe: UNKLE

The love of a woman will undo a man’s very sanity. It will pick him apart at the seams and restitch him in a way that only he can feel. And the world will carousel around him as if nothing has changed. But different he is, for to love is to gain and lose the entire world in a heart beat. ~David Ramsey

As a storm bears down on my corner of the world, just as there’s also a storm brewing in Dalhousie.

Today I reached the midpoint of the novel. Coming in at 36.5K this means the novel will be somewhere in the vicinity of 75K when finished. That means I am literally in the middle and if I keep writing, there will be time aplenty to end this before the month.

Today I got to delve into the other side of Ramsey and I was surprised at what I found. All manner of truly smart things come out of his mouth (and Christian too making me realise more than ever how much of a CHANNEL I am for characters. I couldn’t think this stuff up if I tried!)

David Ramsey is modeled on a real life man from the mid 17th Century. He was the first master of the Guild of Clock and Watchmakers. He was Clockmaker to James the First but fell from favour, ended up in debtor’s prison and his death is recorded as a post script in a letter from his son.

While Ramsey loved his cogs and springs, he like most of the other scientists of his time made all manner of ‘instruments’ and was deeply interested in the occult. When I stumbled across him back in April looking for information on clock making I had no idea he would end up front and centre of my story.

And now, after all this time, I know what motivates him. Plus, how it is possible that Christian may become the next Ramsey.

The scene that ran through my head in the depths of the night, I’m not sure if it will play out just the way I saw it. It’s a bit like the scene with Tabitha and the Sculptor. It came to me in the dead of night and I thought it far too awful to work within the story. But I made it happen and I suspect, given it’s the same antagonist the same will happen with Christian. But that’s all saved up for tomorrow.

Yesterday I gave you a look at the Brothers Hammond, today it is my pleasure to present Ramsey!

* * *

“Do you love Tabitha,” Ramsey asked, swinging the lamp off the bench and holding it beneath him so the light played tricks with his face.

“I am afraid to know my heart.”

“Afraid you should be.” He caressed the music box briefly and turned back to Christian. “I loved a woman. Her name was Antoinette. That was Antoinette’s silhouette in the music box. There is another of her buried somewhere in this house, a portrait, painted by Paul van Somer, not a silhouette.

“Why not put it front a centre where everyone can see it, such a fine painting that it is? To do so would be to place it where I would pass it every day. Two, three, a dozen times a day. Do I wish to say to the world this is what I loved a lost. To relive each time that loss as I gaze up at her. No. I took her painting and put it somewhere safe. And as long as I live, so does she. To die is to truly lose her forever because only I am left to remember her.”

Ramsey looked up and realised he was talking aloud.

“Where did you meet her?”

“I applaud you Mr MacLeod either as an ignoramus of merit or an astute scholar of time. For you ask where and not when. Good, good.”

He began to pace and the lantern threw chaotic shadows against the walls. The machines at the back appeared to momentarily live and then die.

“We are not so un-alike, Mister MacLeod.”

He stopped pacing as though he needed to halt the forward momentum for his thoughts to catch up with him.

“Where? Yes, Where? I met Antoinette at the King’s court. She had come to be lady-in-waiting to the Queen. And both Paul and I fell passionately in love with her. Only I was married and Paul wasn’t. The painting, it is his. Forever am I tormented to see her through the eyes of the man who was my friend, who did not have the tenacity or imagination to be her lover for all time.”

He began to pace again and his mechanical minions lived and died by the swing of the lantern.

“I lost everything to try and win her: my commission at court, the small amount of money I had saved, my house, my reputation, everything until I was thrown in debtor’s prison. And it was there she finally came to me and confessed her love. By the time I had bought my way out of debtor’s prison, it was too late. She was dead from a fever. Paul had returned to Brussels and I was alone again in a life I didn’t want to be part of.

“I was old before my time. Worn out. Prison had leached from my will to live. I thought I was dead inside. Rather than go home and attempt to resurrect myself I died in a fire. Easy enough to do back then, not so much poking around in the ashes to decipher the who, what, when and why. And David Ramsey, the first Master of the Clock and Watchmakers Guild died and I was born in his ashes.”

He lifted the wick of the kerosene lamp and unlocked a door on the far wall, motioned for Christian to follow him.

“I have spent the rest of my life experimenting with the parameters of time…” Christian stepped into a huge circular room. The light bounced off a massive clockwork mechanism in the middle. “…trying to find my way back.”

Day Eleven #nanowrimo

Day 11Words for the day: 3817 (target was 2.5K)
T-shirt: No t-shirt today, it was write from home in your bikini day
Best music vibe: “War Stories” album UNKLE

My NaNo stats tell me that at this rate I will finish in five days time. On Saturday I will have reached my goal. If only my goal was just 50K.

I joked that I like days like today. Days where writing does not feel like opening a vein that refuses to bleed. Conversation always drives my stories and when you put seven people in a room together, there is going to be plenty to say, thank you very much.

Plus the last 24 hours has had a few good reveals. I know who Marie is now. The boys in the band with Becca revealed themselves in brothers (The Brothers Hammond) and I finally worked out the narrative link that gets Christian down into the basement with Ramsey.

What has been most interesting has been revisiting the midpoint. As the word count midpoint came closer (and I relented and wrote down everything that needed to occur between where I was at and where the midpoint would be) I realised that perhaps I’d got the midpoint wrong. After all it is the pivot. It turns every 180 degrees.

The midpoint is not Tabitha going into the sculptor’s chamber. Something has already happened to make Tabitha rethink going to the sculptor. By that point Christian’s behaviour has taken a weird trajectory away from her and that is the impetus for her to go to the sculptor.

So I now think the midpoint belongs to the scene where Christian goes down into the basement with Ramsey and is lured into service, in what appears at first to be a little innocent tinkering, but becomes Christian’s obsession as he is able to extrapolate the potential the opportunity presents in the long term.

Which brings me to today’s extract. How about some characters we haven’t seen too much of yet?

In Act One Gordo arrives at the Orientation Evening in a 70’s shirt and pinstriped pants. His brother Ham in a tweed jacket and too-tight jeans. Gordo is the younger brother, plays guitar, does the electronic loop, sings a bit. Ham is a 3rd year medical student and plays the drums. And he’s another lurking character with an interesting back story and arc.

* * *

“Is she always such a loud pain in the arse?” Christian said to Gordo.

“She does the whole bad girl, righteous anger thing well. Underneath it all, she’s not so bad. You know Chrissy Amphlett, the whole school-girl get up. The bitch thing is Becca’s costume.”

“It worked great until we come out of it on the wrong side of the street press,” Ham butted in.

“That was once,” Gordo defended.

“And the whole Jayden as Voldemort thing.”

“Let the Jayden thing go, okay. He left because he wanted to.”

“He left because of Becca.”

“You know about the Rolling Stones, yeah?” Christian said slicing into the middle of the brothers’ argument.

“Everyone knows about the Stones.”

“But about the Stones, about being bad boys.” Gordo and Ham looked liked they’d been cut free from the moorings of the conversation. “There couldn’t be another Beatles, right, so management created the Rolling Stones’s image as the anti-Beatles,” Christian explained.

“But over time they became the bad boys of rock and roll; a self-fulfilling prophecy. And they copped it badly. Where the Beatles waltzed from country to country, gig to gig, and were generally the darlings of the press, the Rolling Stones had gigs turn into riots and shut down, they were hounded and misrepresented by the press, harassed coming through customs and that was before Keith and all the shit with drugs. Then there was Ultimo. You want to be careful what you are creating today. It might not be who you want to be tomorrow.”

Day Ten #nanowrimo

Day 10Words for the day: 3851 (target was to reach 30K)
T-shirt: Infinity
Best song vibe: More of The Preatures (this is getting a bit ridiculous!)

Hello and welcome to the end of the first third of NaNo. I reached 30K today (30623 if I’m going to be pedantic about numbers). I’m ahead of the word count for 50K and for 75K. That’s a good feeling.

What’s less of a good feeling is the realisation I have a lot to pack into the next 5-7K in order to line the events up for the mid point switch back. After feeling like it was taking forever to get to where I wanted to go now it’s like arriving far too early. So I need to sit down and think hard about what needs to play about between the first dinner party and Tabitha’s visit to the sculptor.

I knew there was something not quite right about the trajectory of Tabitha and Christian’s sexual relationship and I think I fixed that up today. Added an extra scene in and now I think it is a smoother transition.

I’ve ended today with all residents sitting down to their first fancy dinner. Christian and Tabitha are playing a married couple to conform to the protocols of the house, Becca has been running off at the mouth and I’m still unsure how the character of Marie fits in. I keep thinking there needs to be two of her to get through all the work that is required (and that just gave me a brilliant idea).

I’ll leave off with the horizontal folk dancing for a bit and leave you with a sweet and tender moment. I’m intrigued at how all these moments come via Christian and not Tabitha!

* * *

A shiver ran down her back.

“Someone walk on your grave?”

“Just me stepping over my dead thoughts. The bits of me I left behind to come here.” His stroked the side of her hip and moved his hand down to settle on her stomach. “I think the silence might have crushed me if I’d come here alone. I thought I could do it. But I don’t think I would’ve survived.”

“You would have done it. You are stronger than you think you are. The waif of a girl I knew at high school, she grew into an amazing woman.”

“But Robert –”

“You can define your life by your past or by your future.”

“What am I to you? Past or future?”

“You are and have always been my present.” He reached up so his hand nestled on top of her heart, the pound of it an aphrodisiac of a different kind. “You are the gift of life. You made me feel alive when I didn’t even realise I was dead inside.”

“We’re not going to come out of this the same people we went in, are we?”

The rhythm of her heart beneath his hand sped up. “Probably not.”

“You remember how I asked you when we’d know it was the end?”

“And I said when it was the end. I was trying to be all philosophical for you. I thought that was the sort of person you’d be attracted to.”

“I was only ever attracted to you, not some other version of you.” her hand rested over the top of his. “I think it’s only now that it’s starting. Everything else was just prologue.”

“Then let’s just be happy then and not worry that every prologue is bookended with an epilogue.”

“Is that you trying to be philosophical again?”

“No, that’s just me being wanky and thinking shit aloud that was probably best unsaid,” he said, kissing her shoulder.

“Speaking of the unsaid, do you see the light in the walls?” Tabitha asked, rolling away from him so they were looking at each other through the void of the darkness. He felt her fingers on his cheek bones and on his lips.

“I don’t see anything. It’s dark.”

“The light moves through the walls like clouds across the sky,” Tabitha said in a drowsy voice that like the night before, felt like it came from a long way off even though he felt the words on his lips. “I saw one that looked like a rabbit.”

“I only see you.” He moved forward until his lips brushed hers.

“What do I look like in the dark?”

“Perfect,” he said, kissing her harder.

The only protest, when he lifted her leg up over his and he slid slowly into her, was from a body that was two decades too old to keep pace with his desire for her.

“We’re in no rush,” she whispered as if she’d heard his thoughts and he surrendered to the motion of two bodies learning to fit together.

Day Nine #nanowrimo

Day NineWords for the day: 1538 (target was 2.5K)
T-shirt: Live to Dance
Best song vibe: “Take A Card” by the Preatures

It was Girls Arvo In today so I knew word would be thin on the ground once the festivities kicked in (I didn’t quite count on the hang over that has decided to grace me with it’s presence before dinner time).

I’m currently wading through the negotiation and and exploring the boundaries within and beyond Tabitha and Christian. And well, you know, there’s kinda a lot of sex, including baiting the servant Marie to watch then through the key hole. In writing that I’ve realised I need to write one scene that connects them taking to the horizontal folk dance floor for the first time and having enough gumption to begin mind game of exhibitionism.

So that’s the fun for tomorrow to find the where and how of that connecting scene.

The best bit about today was getting a chance to sit in the car, during the drive from Stacey’s place to mind and talk about my story. It appears to make sense when I related it and Stacey gave me a great recommendation of an author to read, who combines horror and erotica well.

So what to leave you with this evening?

* * *

“There’s tea,” Christian said, pouring a second cup. “Come on Tabby, don’t ruin the morning with a tantie about the food.”

“I half expect bloody Basil Fawltey to walk through the door.”

“Lets hope he doesn’t. ”Christian sniggered and poured a dash of milk into the tea. “So you reckon they have a house cow sequestered away in the house somewhere?”

“I think you have the wrong class of folk. Isn’t it the poor who live with their animals.”

“I was just thinking,” he said, adding a sugar cube. “If we’re totally cut off from the outside world – where does all the food come from. You know, the fresh food.”

“I couldn’t care less if there was no milk. I take my coffee black.”

“When you’re not drinking lattes.”

“You always just assumed I drank the same as you. I was only being polite.”

“Only being polite,” he parroted and drew her into his lap, nuzzled her neck.

“How many positions did Prince have in that one night stand?” His words caressed her ear, sparking a delicious shiver down her back that chased away her bad mood.  She’d eaten worse as a student. Hell, she’d eaten worse in the 18 years of living with her constantly distracted parents.

“21 or something like that,” Tabitha said, moving from the chaos of the series of houses they’d called home, the smell of oil paint, turpentine and rollies to the gentle creep of his hands under her top.

“And we’re up to how many?”

“I didn’t think we were counting,” she said, arching her back to let him take her nipple in his mouth.

Day Eight #nanowrimo

Day eightWords for the day: 4578 (target was 2K-4.5K)
T-shirt: NaNoWriMo 2010 Winner
Best song vibe: Everything by the Preatures

When the chips are down you pull out all stops to try to bring things back to some kind of equilibrium. Today I drew on the things that I know work:

  • Putting on a t-shirt that says ‘Fake it until you make it’ – in this case it was the 2010 Winners t-shirt.
  • Pulling out the aromatherapy. I had a tissue with Focus oil tucked into my t-shirt sleeve and while it didn’t clear my head it definitely stopped it from getting cluttered.
  • New music… this is where I love the randomness of life. I stumbled onto The Preatures on the emergency dash to the supermarket for tomorrow’s Girls Afternoon In. The Preatures are now on speed rotate.
  • Minimising the distractions – that meant sitting down toe write ASAP this morning because my easiest writing happens in the morning. It may not necessarily be the best but it requires a smaller vein to be opened
  • Maximising head space – with Dave away the domestic side of things has been pretty lax. I took the washing off the line, cleaned up the kitchen, did the dishes and also took the dog for a walk. All a chance to just relax the brain and let it hiccup/spit up the next scene.
  • Found writing friends – I’ve been really lucky in as much as every call out on Facebook for writing companions has netted at least one person. Sometimes, like today, an accidental mob.

The upshot of all of this is I sign off with 25K. I think the narrative is about to hit another lull. A chance to go in and add some stuff to the existing scenes and make them zing. And, I remember now, back at the start of the day, there may have been a bit of nakedness.

What would a bunch of NaNo extracts be without a touch of erotica (ironically it was the erotica I posted up two years go that it my second biggest hitting post!) I’ve included the entire scene (all in awesome raw 1st draft scrappiness).

* * *

It was not the couch in his office, nor the kitchen bench with the breakfast dishes pushed to one end to accommodate them. It was not the floor beside the claw-foot bath with him between her legs in an act of speed or the shower downstairs with them pressed against the glass recess joking about that scene from St Elmo’s Fire. And he knew as soon as his fingers brushed her warm, smooth cheek that he wouldn’t fuck her. It was more shocking to him, more than everything about the house and its ability to move through time. It was the slap of realisation that every fantasy he had ever played out had been about fucking her. Each private film played out for his own gratification. All about the urgency of relief after they’ve said good night and disappeared within their respective houses, to their families and the lives where neither of them existed.

Holding her, one hand beneath the bulky hoodie and her thin t-shirt her, caressing the dip at the base of her spine, he didn’t want to move. Standing with her pressed to him, her breath against his neck, the thump of his heart was more real than it had been in a decade. And all he wanted was for it to last as long as possible.

They didn’t have to rush. No one would walk in on them; no one needed to go to bed in preparation for an early alarm. There was nothing but them and he knew, as he ran his fingers up the bumps of her back, that the argument in the café, the heated discussion out on the footpath an hour ago and his denial on the stairs was all about the fear of this moment, of losing himself totally to her.

Every time his fingers touch her bare skin, she shuddered and he was afraid if he moved too fast, or too hard, she would break and fall to the ground as dust. He leaned in to kiss her neck knowing he’d been losing himself to her, piece by piece, for months now and fighting it, packaging it up as nothing more than lust, avoiding being alone with her in person, not because he’d give into lust… okay he would give in to the rampant red-blooded desire but it would mean giving the rest of himself to her. And he fought to protect himself from that. And protect her too, because it could only end badly. But in here with the world beyond gone, with her already broken, he only had her to lose.

He lifted the hoodie  over her head and then t-shit, forcing himself to slow down when she flinched.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked and she turned to show him the dark holes of bruises on her pale skin.

On his knees, he gently pressed his lips to the damage, wanting to skim his fingers over them and like an eraser take way the colour, the pain, the abuse. She trembled at this touch and he stopped.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice thick with tears he guessed wet her cheeks but he didn’t stand and wipe them away.

“You always want to fix it.” Helena’s stock attack whenever he wanted to help her. Talk about whatever was bothering her. Even back in the beginning when neither of them really had much to lose by being honest. “Some things just can’t be fixed.”

“We don’t have to do anything,” he said and pressed his cheek to the soft convex of her stomach, kissing it once and turning his check back to it.

Her fingers sunk into his hair and stayed like that, fingers massaging his scalp, his arms between her legs, wrapped around one thigh. A bell sounded shattering the quiet solidarity.

“Get undressed,” she said, pulling away from him, unbuttoning her jeans and peeling them down her leg. She laughed when she realised she still had her boots on.

The flurry of activity bewildered him.

“Hurry,” she said, towing him awkwardly toward the bed, her jeans still around her ankles. “The lights are about to go out.” And as she said it the bell sounded a second time. The flame in the lamps stuttered and extinguished.

“Sit down,” she said and held tight to his hand in the dark. “The rooms going to –”

And before she finished the sentence the floor shuddered and he dropped down to his knees with her, pulling her into his arms. Somewhere in the dark, the grind and clunk of machinery sounded. A frigid breeze stole in around them bringing with it the smell of storms and emptiness.

“We’re slipping,” she said, glad she wasn’t on the chair like she was last time.

As quickly as it started it was over. The room enveloped them in a stillness, like the wet, newness after a storm.

“Shit! There’s no candle this time.” If she wasn’t caught up in his arms, it would have been a disembodied voice.

“Leaves it all to the imagination,” he said and she laughed, moving out of his arms.

“I’ve had a enough of imagining it. I would’ve thought –” The sentence finished with his lips on hers.

“No clash of teeth,” she joked when they came up for air.

“Doesn’t mean all the right parts will make it into all the right slots the first time.”

And it occurred to him, in the endless blackness it was a different kind of virtual experience where he could smell and touch and hear her. Taste her even, but she was lost to him. Like a blind man making love to the woman in his mind.

“Get undressed. It’s going to be a long night and I don’t know what comes next.”

“You don’t know what comes next.” His hands ran down the curve of her shoulders and across her back to the clasp of her bra. “I’m open to all suggestions.”

“I thought you were taking your clothes off.”

“All in good time.”

She wiggled away from him, the breath catching in her throat and he guessed she’d moved in some way that hurt her ribs. He’d never thought of the sound of laces unknotting and the smooth movement of leather over cotton as the sweetest sound track to precede making love, but there it was.

“I guess I don’t get to seduce you with my guitar,” he said, stripping naked, grateful for the mask of the dark on a body gone to rot by ambivalence, bad food, good alcohol and too many hours sitting behind a desk and on the couch.

“If you think you can—”

And he found her again in the dark.

“The bed or the floor,” he asked, his hands cupping her breasts and all thought of being slow and gentle was consumed by the need to be with her now, just not on his knees.

“How about the kitchen bench,” she joked and moved out of his reach again. Her knees clicked. “There’s a bed here –” and there was a muttered swear when she hit something. “Found it. Shame not to use it. It’s one of those four-posters with thick red curtains.”

The bed was deep and soft and endless without the ability to sight the edges. The heavy curtains brushed against his skin and he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything.

Beneath his hands and fingers, his lips and tongue she opened like a lotus flower, cooing and moaning quietly until he told her there was no shame in vocalising her enjoyment. The sound of her pleasure was a crescendo that mirrored, step by step, the speed of his tongue on her clitoris, guided by everything she’d told him she wanted and never got, and a certain amount of trial and error, until she screamed out in raw ecstasy, once and a second time when he decided to see how far he could push her over the edge.

“So… I… take… it…” he said, each word intersecting a kiss placed in a line up over her pubic mound and up onto her stomach twitching and heaving as she tried to catch her breathe. “That you –”

She slid out from beneath him and the jerk of breath in the bottom of her throat snagged on him. She pushed him onto his back, her hand pushed against his chest. “Stop talking,” she panted and straddled him, the inside of her thighs slick with sweat. “Time doesn’t stand still in here and I’m impatient.”

“I thought –”

“Stop thinking,” she said and slid down onto him with a sigh that rose goosebumps over his body. And he trusted she wouldn’t do anything that hurt the bit of her already in pain.

Later, when their bodies gave out before their desire she lay in his arms. Her fingers twisted in and out of his chest hair and he stroked the back of her hand.

“You have beautiful fingers,” she said.

“Better in person.”

“You are better in person. Though it’s like braille. Feeling but not being able to see you.”

“You don’t want to see me naked,” he joked and he felt her shift and from the feel of her breath guessed she was directly above him. “If I can’t pay out on my body you can’t. I thought we agreed on that months ago.”

“That was until I took my clothes off.”

“You are beautiful,” she said and her lips found the hollow in his chest where the bone of his sternum was hard beneath her flips. She trailed up to his collar bone and her hand crept lower..

“I can’t,” he said, pulling her back down beside him. “I’m barely awake. And I’m exhausted. We should have done this when we were twenty.”

She nestled back into the grotto of his arm and torso and took one hand in hers again.

“These are hands that make dreams into reality.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” he said.

“I’m not talking about that.” She nudged her shoulder into his ribs.

She ran two fingers down the sides of his middle finger, her thumb caressed his palm. “These hands mould dreams of the impossible, into tangible things.”

“And what do you think you do with words. Jean Jeanie.”

‘Mangle them.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You’re here, aren’t you? Someone other than me thinks you have talent too.”

He yawned and stroked her arm. The pull of sleep was zero gravity that cut him loose from her and he tried to hang on.

“The walls are glowing,” she said, in a voice that came from a long way off. “They didn’t do that the last time I was here.”

“Flashing neon.”

“You’re asleep.”

“No I’m not,” he said and was gone before she had extracted herself from the tangle of arms.

Pulling a quilt from the bed, she got her bearings using the low light from the walls to find her was to the edge of the room. There was the subtle jolt of static electricity when she reached a finger out to it and the hairs on her arms rose up.

The wall was warm. She pressed her cheek against it and looking across, she saw small flickers on the uneven surface, like wild electricity.

“You’re glowing,” Christian mumbled.

“The wall is electric,.”

“Come to bed,” he mumbled. “I miss you already.”

The bed shifted and she moulded herself to him.

“Thank you for coming with me,” she whispered into his shoulder, her arm snaking up over his chest to play with his chest hair again.

“Mutual orgasm… always… best,” he joked beneath the yoke of sleep.

“I mean here.”

“I’ll still be here when you wake up,” he said, voice trailing off as his fingers wound in hers. “So go to sleep.”

 

Day Seven #nanowrimo

Day SevenWords for the day: 1545 (ironically more than yesterday!)
T-shirt: The Wild Thing Ate Max
Best song vibe: “Free Fallin'” Tom Petty (1989)

Today felt hard. It took forever to get my focus on. It was through the luck of being about to hit the page at the same time as Ben Payne that got me to stop dithering and commit.

It feels like my head is slowly being compressed, tighter and tighter. I need a chance to get out of my house, by myself, and walk, drive… reassert a sense of freedom. The best I was able to do was decamp out of the writing cave and sit beside the pool. That’s where I wrote all the words for the day.

Good news is I DID hit the 20K mark today. Act 1 is over and the fun and games inside the house begin. Marie the chamber maid has come to the fore as her own character, which is nice and although I think I knew who she may be, I could be wrong. She is definitely a legacy of another residency.

Oh and did I mention – Christian and Tabitha FINALLY KISSED. I jokingly said on Facebook today that my story is schizophrenic. One moment it is a horror and the next a romance. It is definitely gothic horror (like Elyora, only Elyora felt less weirded between the two genres!)

So, who is up for a first kiss?

***

“This is what we wanted,” Tabitha said, her face a light with excitement.  Her eagerness to believe etched in the curve of her smile.

“It’s one thing to dream.”

“And another to accept that dreams manifest in ways we can only believe afterward.”

“None of that law of attraction bull shit, Tabitha. We’ve spoken about that and you know –”

“You don’t believe in it. But what if? Think of all those things you have built. That you thought up and made real in the world. Thought preceded action and –”

“It’s nothing like that.”

“Stop thinking,” Tabitha said and kissed him, his lips hard beneath hers. She drew his top lip between hers and then his bottom lip, waiting for him to yield.  “How many times did I think of that and despair it would never happen,” she said. “That I would never get a chance to kiss you. But here we are.” Her fingers traced the line of his lips. “Would it kill you to just surrender to something you don’t understand?”

“I might not understand this, but you…”

He put his hand behind her head and drew her to him. This time his lips were soft under hers, moving slowly then with a growing demand until Tabitha pulled away.

“How about we get a room?” she said and laughed when he reached to keep her close to him. The lightness broke the deadlock in her chest and she dashed beyond his reach, bounding up the stairs with grace and eagerness that transcended the weight of pain and fear she’d carried into Dalhousie. For a moment, the staircase became the billowing lungs of white sheets beneath the old Queenslander of her dream and they were back playing hide and seek. Breathing in her old life and breathing out the new. As she ran through them, her feet finding the stairs, and the fantastical transposed over the real, she knew this would end with the solid reality of his body when he caught up to her. And the sheets dissolved back into the low-lit, wallpapered landing on the first floor.

She grinned at him from the balustrade then ran down the hallway toward where Marie stood unlocking a door, knowing she’d be tangled in sheets with him before the house slipped between the minutes. Her body hated and broken by Robert would be made new under Christian’s touch.

He swept her into his arms when they met at the open door.

“Your back,” she protested.

“Fuck it,” he said and carried her across the threshold of the room, his lips locked to hers.

Day Six #nanowrimo

IMG_6177Words for the day: 1302
T-shirt: Totoro
Best song vibe: “They Blind The Stars, And the Wild Team” Decoder Ring (2010)

The aim was to hit the 20K mark today. Life had other ideas. The main focus wasn’t writing, but to get everything in order for my first Writer’s Surgery at the QWC. The Writer’s Surgery is a 90 minute, face-to-face mentoring session. As it was my first, I wanted to make a good go of it. And the writing suffered as a consequence. I got an early session in but that was all.

Nothing like the pressure of having to get words down to ensure they piss off on you (I was grateful to catch 1300 of them). Plus my body is one large ball of angry, painful hatred after my massage yesterday. You can’t roll with it every day.

I did manage to find a way to mask Christian’s entry into the house by changing the POV to Ramsey. Tabitha steps out of the dark and after a few lines of dialogue, Christian steps out too much to Ramsey’s fury. It will be fun to go back and amp the tension up in the scene in the second draft

So no 20K for me today. There’s always tomorrow.

A little from today following.

* * *

“Love me or hate me, both are in my favour,” she said, pushing the chair out.

“If you love me, I’ll always be in your heart,” he joined.

“If you hate me, I’ll always be in your mind.”

“We understand each other then,” Ramsey said holding the door open for her.

She nodded and he watched her lover’s face relax when she walked toward him. Ramsey followed several paces behind.

“Thank you,” he said, extending a hand.

Ramsey looked at it and walked past, his heels chipping sharply on the tiles as he went deeper into the house to find Marie.