Yes, it's NaNoWriMo time again! That crazy month where writers try to bang out a novel (or at least 50,000 words of one) in a month. I'm competing again this year, because I've found there's nothing quite like the kick in the posterior that Nano provides when you need to get a first draft going. This year my lovely writer friend JD Faulkner has joined me on the challenge, so I'm tagging her for a DailyLines Challenge as well. She's also posting daily about the Nano experience on her Tumblr, in typically hilarious JD fashion. If you need a giggle, her WhyMyWriterIsCrying is the place to go.
Okay, so exciting things are happening as I continue to write this detective mystery set in Palm Springs, including FINALLY figuring out the title:
The story focuses on private detective Roger Woods, who's been hired to look into the disappearance of a family of four, and goes back and forth between his investigation and the story of Amelia and Hart - pulling back the curtain on a marriage and family that is going wrong in all the worst ways.
And here's a snippet of Amelia meeting her future husband Hart for the first time (now remember, this is first draft stuff so it's unpolished - also, for those who might be offended there are some blue words in there):
“Why am I being sued?”
“Does the name Martin O’Reilly mean anything to you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Apparently you beat the potatoes out of him and stole his car.”
“I assume that’s starting to ring some bells?”
“I’ll take that as a yes. He’s claiming his BMW Z4 was a total write-off. Apparently he found it in Inglewood three days after you stole it.”
He raised a hand. “He’s also claiming irreparable damage to an Armani suit which was covered in barbeque sauce and other foul substances, a scratch on his Patek Philippe watch which couldn’t be buffed out, the poor dear, facial disfigurement which required embarrassingly expensive reconstruction, and of course damages for pain and suffering.”
“This is total bullshit!” I hollered loud enough that several people three booths down turned to gawk.
“Of course it is,” he agreed in a way that left me uncertain as to whether he believed me or not. He was watching me keenly, waiting to see what I would do next. I huffed a bit, then took a swig of my martini and looked him square in the eyes.
“Okay, so what’s any of this got to do with you?”
He smiled. “That’s good, Amelia.”
The way my name rolled off his tongue was startling, and not entirely pleasant. “What’s good?”
“Your self-control. I’ve given you every reason to mistrust me and be on your guard. But you haven’t so much as kneed me in the balls.”
“Not yet,” I said.