In case anyone hasn’t guessed by this time, real post will be a bit sparse this month, both in frequency and length. Creativity does take it out of me, folks. With 15,000 words under my belt, I’m on schedule to finish my NaNo novel well before the end of the month. My twisted little short story and last year’s novel are waiting for me to get back to them.
By early evening, I’m plodding along, just barely hanging in until I can meet whatever count I’ve set as the minimum for the day. I wish I was a more energetic, get up and go person. I wish I could type faster. While I’m at it, I might just as well wish I was 20 pounds lighter.
Just to brighten up your boring day, here’s an excerpt from Privileged Lives. Remember, this is first draft stuff. Spell checked, but otherwise pristine and untouched by editorial hands.
Bennett dropped the pamphlet on the coffee table and went to put the pot on. He wasn’t looking forward to the poor excuse for morning coffee, but he couldn’t afford the real stuff anymore, except as a special treat once in a long while. He really wished he had a single-serve packet of the good stuff in the cupboard right now, because he could certainly use it. He sat down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands, then jumped up. “Damn, why didn’t I bring that thing in here with me?”
He went back to the living room, almost fully awake now, but needing his coffee very badly. He flipped the pamphlet over to the front, read the big, bold letters, and dropped to the couch in shock.
‘Reclamation and Restoration. The municipality of Cyprusville is now under martial law. Read and comply.’
“Martial law? What the hell happened?” Bennett muttered. “This has to be some kind of joke. I knew I should have watched the news last night. We couldn’t have been invaded. Who the hell would invade a little burg like Cyprusville? That guy looked like an American. So did the ones in the jeep.” He suddenly remembered that the men in the jeep had been armed, rifles at the ready.
It wasn’t an invasion, he realized with a sick feeling. The letters on the jeep were for Reclamation and Restoration, a new branch of the military. It had been on the news a few times, he remembered now, but he’d always had the feeling, watching the clips and listening to the talks with officers that it was all propaganda, covering something unpleasant.
He started to open the pamphlet, a feeling of dread giving him a chill. Just then, the coffee maker beeped and he dropped the damp thing as if it had bitten him. He let out a breath that he’d been holding. Coffee! He picked the pamphlet up to take with him to the kitchen and then dropped it again. He didn’t really want to know what was in it. As long as he didn’t read it, everything would remain the same. The words on the front didn’t really mean anything.
“Yeah,” he growled. “And the soldier with the horn didn’t wake you up too damn early this morning, and the jeep in the middle of the street is just a hallucination.”