About ten days ago, I said I wasn’t going to update my writing site until after the end of Witches in Fiction 2013… to the Bone, “unless something unexpected happens—like a character jumping out of the page offering to beat me senseless if I don’t post about the progress of her or his story.”
Well, no vicious character has jumped out of the page to beat me bloody, but today I added a bit over 2,000 words to AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ novel, edited three chapters of an urban fantasy novel that is already finished, wrote a short article that sold for almost nothing (but hey, almost is still something, right?), and emptied my inbox. That, my Wicked Darlings, is a major accomplishment in my book.
I’m so excited about today’s work that I want to celebrate by totally stealing Sam Curtin’s idea, in “My Writing Bone,” and posting an excerpt of the story/chapter I’m planning to share with you on April 13th as part of my fourth blogoversary party:
“Wishing Upon Earth and Bone”
Sofía chewed on Toledo’s question for a while. It tasted a bit spoilt in her mouth; not an unusual reaction when thinking of Soledad. “Some,” she answered. But that was a lie. She had been standing in the same spot for more than three hours, whispering encouragement chants to the leaves of the rosemary plant that had marked the center of the Cienfuegos’ garden for more than one hundred years.
The nervousness had begun to sprout in her heart when people started to show up, about an hour earlier. Now that the sun’s eye was beginning to close behind the top of AlmaMia’s mango tree, Sofía was having a hard time keeping her hands from shaking.
“Soledad will be out soon,” Toledo said in a soothing voice. “She has until sunset, and you know how that child likes to make an entrance.”
“They are getting impatient,” Sofía said, fighting not to stare at the small group that had stepped out of the circle to have a lively conversation that included a lot of pointing in her direction.
Sofía turned around at the sound of her cottage door opening and closing. She exhaled a hot mixture of disappointment and resignation at the sight of AlmaMia, her three-year-old granddaughter, waddling out of the front door in her underwear holding a bottle in one hand and a half-eaten mango in the other.
“I’ll get her,” Toledo said with a chuckle.
“But treasure!” the little girl wiggled and wailed in Toledo’s arms. “Treasure for ‘osemary. Mamabuela,” she called on Sofía, “me treasure for ‘osemary. You said, Mamabuela, you said…” AlmaMia began to whimper through pouting lips, shaking the bottle and the mango at her grandmother.
This picture will make sense after you read the full story/chapter, on the April 13th. I promise ;-)
I borrowed these lovely dirty feet from SheWoodTime…