Joely Sue Burkhart's Blog, page 49

NaNoWriMo2011 Winner!

I was so close tonight that I had to keep going until I hit.  All Lady Wyre's Regret tonight, but I have absolutely no regrets.  I have no idea how much longer this prequel could be.  I don't have a particular ending in mind.  Actually as I typed that, I *did* get the ending as clear as day in my head.  Isn't that strangely wonderful?

So for this NaNoWriMo, I:

Finished The Billionaire Zombie's Virgin Witch.  I even edited it.
Did some brainstorming for Lord Regret's Price.
Wrote several thousand more words on Lady Wyre's Regret.
Did some brainstorming and even first draft work on the project I'll tentatively call "3 Aliens" even though that's not what the title will be.

I did not get back to Phantom yet.  It's going to have to wait a bit longer, because as soon as I finish this prequel, I need to format all the Shanhasson books and get them loaded next month.  After I submit the zombie story!

Final NaNoWriMo count:  50,027 (50,074 in my file, but I'll go with what the validator gave).

Snippet:  From Lady Wyre's Reget, first draft, etc. etc.

As Queen's Physician, Charlotte had enjoyed every luxury Londonium had to offer as well as full backing for every scientific exploration she'd ever wanted to undertake.  Yet she'd never crashed a ship on an unknown planet before.

"Another thing I need to learn," she muttered, pushing up out of the cupboard into which she'd tumbled.

Sig was sprawled on the floor and half buried by rubble.  From the brief look she'd gotten at his chest before the crash, she didn't hesitate to grab the small black case containing her most prized research.  Tossing the broken panel and twisted hull away from him, she called out to him.

"Sig?  Are you still with me?"

"Charlie."  He tried to laugh but his chest wheezed like a ghastly broken pipe organ.  "Did we make it?"

She dug into her case and pulled out a pair of sharp scissors to cut open his lawn shirt.  A pity, because the fine linen and delicate hand-woven lace looked like it'd come straight from Parisii.  "A bit worse for wear, I'm afraid.  I hope you weren't terribly fond of Henry for I've broken him beyond repair."  She kept her voice light and cheerful, despite the severity of his wound.  Any other physician would merely make him comfortable until his final moments.  But not I.  "What manner of planet have you sent me to, Lord Regret?"

"A colony."

"A rebellious colony."  Not good.  The shard had pierced his heart, possibly beyond even her repair.  "It won't surprise me if Majel simply blows the entire planet out of the sky for their audacity."

"Safest I could find in such short notice."  His voice weakened, breathy with pain.  His pulse fluttered in his throat, frantic and uneven.  "Don't bother, Charlie.  I know it's bad."

As if to illustrate his words, he wrapped his hand around the shard and yanked it out of his chest.  Blood spurted immediately, his life's blood draining away in an alarming fountain.

Planting her right hand over the wound, she laid the precious glass tube out on his heaving chest.  Inside, tiny bits of silver metal glinted in the emergency lights.  She leaned down over him so he could see her face despite his weakened senses.  "I can save you, if you want to live."

"Too many regrets," he whispered, his words stumbling together until she could barely understand him.  "Let me die."

She hesitated, searching his face.  The lines of pain eased about his eyes, smoothing into acceptance.  He'd risked his reputation as the galaxy's most famous assassin to help her.  He could have left her at Dock 371.  He could have tossed her to the bounty hunter and escaped unscathed.

But he didn't. How can I stand by and watch him die without at least trying?

She flipped the cork out of the tube.  She removed her hand from his chest, braced for spraying blood, but he'd already lost too much.  In the open wound, she could see the torn remains of his heart and the white of broken bone.  Into that cavity, she sprinkled the metal bits from the tube.

All of them.  The more assemblers in his body, the more likely they can repair the damage before he dies.

She pulled out the datapad and typed in simple commands.  Heart. Infection.  Blood loss.  Her assemblers weren't  sentient, so without programming, they'd simply be bits of debris in his wound.  While they worked their magic, she gave him a shot for pain.  At least he'd be comfortable if they failed.  Then she spilled a bio-bandage over the wound and hoped for the best.

Settling back on her heels, she closed her eyes and allowed emotion to wash through her for one brief, luxurious moment.  Relief, joy, terror, heart-pumping adrenaline.  Her hands trembled, and with no one to see her moment of weakness, she even allowed a few tears to fall.  She was so close to freedom!  So close to losing the man who'd helped make it all possible.  So close to death herself.  But at least I'll die fighting for my freedom, not trapped in the Tower while Majel scribbles down every secret her torturers yank out of me.

With that out of her system, she forced herself up and moving.  She couldn't assume the bounty hunter had given up on them so quickly.  They were down in strange territory, helpless, unable to flee, and one of their party severely wounded.  If they had to make a run for it, she needed to gather the most crucial supplies.

There was nothing else she could do for Sig at the moment, although she couldn't help stealing glances at him to see if he were still breathing.

Packets of food.  Every weapon she could find.  Anything she might be able to sell or trade for information or protection.  She had a tidy pile by Sig when she heard the first rustling and cracks of undergrowth outside the ship.  Arming herself with a lazor he'd thoughtfully installed beneath Henry's main dash, she wiped all emotion from her face, hit the button to open the hatch, and walked outside with all the regal confidence of the Duchess of Wyre.

"Hello, there!"  She called in her most imperious voice as though summoning the butler for her afternoon tea.  "We need assistance immediately."

A man stepped out of the shadows, crossing the torn earth and smoldering tracks of their crashing descent.  He approached with hands palm up and empty, his manner hesitant despite his lumbering giant-like size.  She kept the lazor hidden against her skirts, ready to slice his head off if he even thought about attacking them.  His much larger bulk wouldn't matter one iota against the razor-sharp weapon.  Dressed in a strange mishmash of furs and leathers with the skin of some small rodent wrapped around his head, he appeared to be a colonist, not the bounty hunter that had shot them down.

"Are you hurt, my lady?"

English, at least.  She could thank her lucky stars a Britannian colony had been close, although she hoped the colonists weren't too sympathetic to Her Majesty's command.  Americus had been the first colony to attempt to cast off Majel's yoke.  If she hadn't been busy wiping out the Razari, she might have already destroyed Americus's pitiful little rebellion.

"No, but my companion is.  Do you have shelter nearby?"

"Only my cabin, my lady.  I'm afraid we're several klicks from any real civilization."

Perfect.  She stepped aside to allow him to peek inside the ship at Sig.  "That'll do.  What's your name, sir?"

"Gage, my lady.  I'm no bloodletter, but your friend doesn't look well at all."

Briskly, she gathered up her research equipment and as much of their provisions as she could carry.  "Bloodletting is for ignorant fools who know nothing better.  Now make yourself useful and help me get my friend to safety."

The man easily scooped Sig into his arms like a child, emphasizing his bear-like size.  I have no contacts in this

place.  My title and House cannot help me here.  All I have are my research—which I daren't use too openly else Majel will catch wind of it—my feminine wiles, and my wits.

Putting as much seductive sway as possible into her hips, she stepped out of the wreck and cast a flirtatious glance back at Gage.  The poor bumbling man gaped at her like she'd sprouted another head and almost dropped Sig.

It's a damned good thing I've been blessed with a brain. 

RBW Post Turkey

I didn't track much this past week.  I didn't exercise either.  Sigh.  I was just too busy.  If I wasn't running an errand or cooking, I was doing up dishes, cleaning the house for company, or writing (a little).  We even ended up with fried twist donuts in the house Thursday morning (for the company, of course), and I succumbed instead of eating my healthy yogurt as planned.

I gave away tons of leftovers but the fridges are still loaded.  We had another Thanksgiving dinner with my mom, brother, and sister Saturday, and of course Granny sent us home with MORE leftovers, including a nice big piece of Chocolate Angel Pie.  I ate it.

So why was the scale down .42% today?

I tried really hard to not OVER eat.  I ate what I wanted – but had small portions, ate slowly, and had NO seconds.  I ate extra vegetables and fruit and yogurt whenever possible (e.g. Saturday morning brunch before leaving for Mom's I had Fage, blueberries, and Kashi, while the family gnoshed on Combos and beef jerky on the ride).  Then Sunday and Monday I was strictly back to plan, ate a little less than my point range but nothing extreme, drank my water, tracked my points, and avoided snacky food.  In other words, I got right back on track instead of allowing the feasting to continue.

Nearly to my next 5 pound star!

Romance Biggest Winner

NaNoWriMo2011 Day 27

Posting this morning since it was too late last night.  I didn't get much work done over Thanksgiving, but I did work in the car Saturday on the way to Granny's.  And since I'm off from the Evil Day Job today, I stayed up late last night, which I'm paying for this morning because I still have to get the monsters up for school.

I plan to work more on Lady Wyre's Regret today, but last night, I had to work on plotting and building a project that I've been thinking about for awhile.  I dreamed about it the other night, so I wanted to get down everything I could remember.  All the work this weekend was on plot and worldbuilding.  For once, I know the ending pretty well (or at least the general idea, perhaps not every last detail), but I have no idea what happens in the middle.  Other than the smexing.  *winks*  So I need to do a lot more plotting.  I'm sure I'll be ready to set it aside for more work later once I run out of steam.

NaNoWriMo count (thru last night):  46,185 words

Snippet:  From Lady Wyre's Regret, first draft only, subject to heavy revision later.

"So you're a pilot as well as an assassin."  Lady Wyre had traded in the slightly scorched gown for a high-waisted spotlessly delicate linen that made Sig shake his head.  "What other talents do you possess?"

The linen was so fine and thin he could see the darker hint of her thighs despite the petticoats she wore.  The hem and bodice were thickly covered with silver embroidery and pearls.  On Britannia, she'd be the perfect picture of a genteel lady heading to her country house.  She's got a lot to learn about living on the run.

They slipped through the heavily armed Britannia shields using a tiny backdoor loophole he'd paid a small fortune to open.  Breathing a little easier, he initiated the illegal contraband engine he'd acquired from a desperate Razari.  It'd need a bit to warm up, but once charged, they'd hit Kali Kata in a matter of hours.

If one of Her Majesty's ships happened to board him, they'd take one glance at that tiny crystal powering the ship to unheard-of speeds and throw him into the Tower without evening finding his female partner aboard.  Luckily they won't be able to catch us once we hit Razari speed.  "Do you have any gowns a little less conspicuous?"

Up went her nose and she gave him that delightfully regal stare that somehow made him appear shorter than her slight five foot height.  "A Duchess has a duty to always look her absolute best."

As gently as possible, he pointed out the obvious.  "You can't be the Duchess of Wyre any longer, sweetheart."

She sniffed and a sudden bolt of terror struck his heart at the thought that she might burst into tears.  He hated crying.  He'd actually botched a few marks in the past because he hurried up to silence all the moaning and messy sobbing.  If she was a crier, it'd be damned tempting to slit her pretty throat and toss her into deep space.

"I hope you stocked tea on this miserable little boat.  I need a cup.  Badly."

Suspicious, he risked a glance at her and thankfully found her eyes completely dry. "I've got a nice black from Zijin. Just whirl your chair around one eighty degrees and hit the replicator."

She didn't fuss about having to make her own tea or complain that a replicator's brew wasn't as good as the real thing, a pleasant surprise.  After leading a life of privilege, she couldn't be faulted for snobbish ways, as long as she wasn't a bloody prig at the same time. That he couldn't abide.

She surprised him yet again by handing him a cup, too and also asking—instead of ordering.  "Where are we going?"

"It's going to be hard to disappear off the grid, unless you leave Britannian space entirely.  We'll have to fuel up somewhere, so I planned to stop at the Colony.  Then beyond, wherever you want to go."

"Britannia space grows wider day by day.  The Razari certainly didn't expect a warship to show up on their front door."  She sipped her tea in silence for a few moments.  "I'm not afraid of correcting my mistakes, Sig.  As long as you're not afraid to point them out to me."  She chuckled at  whatever she saw on his face.  "Besides, now I have a reason to go shopping again. What do you recommend?"

"Dark colors, simple utilitarian materials.  No embellishments."

When she pouted, he couldn't help but laugh.  "No silk?"

"Absolutely not.  Only a woman of a blooded House would wear silk outside of Britannia.  If you look like a lady, there will be questions."

She blew out a long breath.  "This is going to be harder than I imagined.  I expected to live without servants, high fashion, and the tedium of Society.  In fact, I relished the opportunity to live on my own for once in my life.  But no silk?  Oh dear.  That might…" She sniffed and damned if her bottom lip didn't quiver.  "Break me."

Dread chilled Sig's stomach.  Don't cry.  Please don't cry.  "Don't make me toss you out the airlock, Charlie."

She burst into laughter.  "You should see the look on your face.  Why, Lord Regret, I do believe you're queasy.  Are you by chance air sick?"

An alarm blared, cutting through her teasing.  Instantly calm and alert, she calmly set the cup of tea aside and took up position beside him.

He scanned the readings.  "Unknown ship."

"Her Majesty's?"

Sig shook his head.  "Not a warship.  I'm also not detecting a merchant signal.  Not good, not good at all.  Someone was waiting for us to lift out of port.  I need another five minutes before the Razari crystal is fully powered."

"What kind of cannon do we have?"

He couldn't help flashing a look of appreciation at her.  No questions, no panic.  She leaped straight to the heart of the issue and prepared to blow them out of the sky.  "Henry might be little, but our ship is loaded for bear."  He reached over and pulled up the armament program on her display.  "Fire at will.  We have plenty of ammunition."

Concentrating on the controls, she still managed to quip.  "You named your ship Henry?"

"Be nice to him," Sig warned as he programmed in a zig-zag flight pattern with a little more zig than zag to hopefully buy them time.  "He's your ticket out of the Tower of Londonium."

"Good boy."  She patted the dashboard and winked at Sig.  "Fly faster, dear Henry."

Taking return fire as quickly as she managed to get off a shot, the ship shimmied. Sig kept a wary eye on the shields, which were dropping at an alarming rate.  Another hit and they might lose their port engine.  Come on, Henry.  Fire up that blasted engine so we can get out of here!

Lady Wyre whirled her seat around.  "Where are my trunks?"

"You don't have time to change your gown," he gritted out.  "I'm pushing the engines are hard as I dare to get us some breathing room, but I need you to keep them off my tail as long as possible!"

"Oh for goodness sakes."  She left her chair, stumbling against the panel when they took another shot that rocked the ship sideways.  Fortunately, the panel she accidentally knocked open contained her precious trunk. She rummaged in it and quickly returned to her seat.  "I've got a few tricks up my sleeve, so to speak, Lord Regret.  I can help with the shields and possibly…"

She plugged a slim stick into the panel and her dainty hands flew over the keyboard.  "There.  I can't wait to get my hands on Henry's nether regions to fully explore that Razari engine.  All they brought to me to study was the crystal."

Amazingly, the shields increased back to eighty percent capacity.

"You should have a bit more horses under the hood, too."

Shaking his head, he increased the throttle and Henry leaped ahead like a charger taking the next fence.  "My dear Lady Wyre, if we weren't getting chased by a bounty hunter, I'm afraid I might have to kiss you."

"Bloody hell," she muttered, slamming her fist down on the panel.

Taken aback, Sig kept his gaze straight ahead.  Stupid tongue.  Too familiar by half and me out of Society for years.  No wonder she's offended.

"Oh don't be a mamby-pamby.  If you dare to steal a kiss, give me your very best effort and I may reward you with a bedding you'll not soon forget.  I'm frustrated because evidently I'm a wretched shot.  If we survive, I want your solemn word of honor that you'll see to it that I receive proper training on marksmanship."

"Done and done."  Another blast rocked the ship, and this time poor Henry didn't recover.  He wallowed to the port side.  Cursing beneath his breath, Sig hauled on the controls but the ship was sluggish to respond.  "Damnation, we're sitting ducks here.  Don't do this to me, Henry!"

"Incoming."  Her voice was tight and low but not panicked.  "I'm trying to intercept.  Hold on…"

The explosion sent the ship rolling back to starboard.  Shrapnel splintered off the hull, jabbing into his left side and chest. He fought to bring the ship out of the roll, but pain choked him.

No.  That was blood.

"The hull is compromised."  If anything, Lady Wyre's voice became even more measured and calm as their situation worsened.  "Redirecting shields with my device.  Hold on, Henry…"

Sig glanced down.  A long piece of twisted metal protruded from his chest.  Once he pulled it out, he'd probably die in minutes.  I have to find a place to land and fast.  A place where we won't fall into Britannian hands as soon as we try to dock.

There was only one blip on the radar that was settled but not firmly in Britannian control.  Whatever she'd done with the shields had settled the ship's roll, but the controls were still sluggish.  He tried to plot the new course, but his fingers were numb.  His hands felt like blocks of ice.

"Tell me what to do."

"New course."  He tried to breathe shallowly to ease the pain.  "Americus."

She said something, but pain blanketed him in a gray daze that words couldn't penetrate.  He couldn't help but laugh, even though it sent shards of agony through his heart.  I never thought I'd die in a shipwreck at the hands of a bounty hunter.

Yours To Take Cover

Coming May 2012 from Samhain – Vicki's book!  The Connaghers #3

Gregar for Thanksgiving 4

Happy Thanksgiving!

Gregar for Thanksgiving 3

Ahhhhh, look at his hair!  And of course, the blood.

NaNoWriMo2011 Day 22

Just 769 words today but I'll take them.  This piece (Lady Wyre's Regret) is soooo fun.  It's been great getting back into this world and visiting Lord Regret and Charlie again.  I went back to previous scenes and layered in a few more details that I thought about after heading to bed last night.

NaNoWriMo Count:  42,121 words

Snippet:  Following from the previous day.

He picked her up, manhandling her down the impressive stairs to her gleaming carriage. Her shoe fell off and she had the inane urge to laugh.  Cinderella would be late to the ball.  Would Prince Charming find her shoe and come to her rescue?

Lord Regret slung her inside the carriage so hard she fell face first against the floor.  Her head rebounded off the wall and for a moment, everything went black.  Outside, screams and chaos did nothing to help her regain her senses.  She tasted blood and her head throbbed.

The flash of heat stirred her numb limbs to life.  Fire exploded about the carriage, created by the Razari crystal she'd studied.  A deliberate message to Majel, as well as a  plausible source for the execution to which she could claim ignorance.  Someone had to want Charlotte dead other than the Queen, enough to make her doubt Charlotte's hand in her own execution.

Of anyone, the Razari would want her dead for what she'd accidentally done to their planet.

Smoke choked her, making it impossible to see.  She ran her hands over the floor of the carriage, trying to find the escape hatch.  I have to get out before it starts moving.  Damnation, where's the latch?

Panic made her hands tremble.  Sweat trickled down her face, the heat scalding her skin.  The stench of scorched silk and melting metal burned her throat.  Finally, she found the latch, hefted the small door open, and jumped through to blissfully cool darkness.  She pulled the hatch shut after her and nearly collapsed into a heap of smoldering skirts.

Too close.  Too real.  Her mind shrilled, her nerves raw with fear, but she forced her body to move.  She had to get off Wyreton lands as soon as possible.  Majel wouldn't delay the search long, even if they managed to extinguish the blaze.

Her greatest fear was that someone would put out the fire before it managed to destroy the carriage.  The Razari crystals were powerful, flashing so hot that metal began melting almost immediately.  Definitely hot enough to combust a body into nothing but ashes, indistinguishable from the remains of the carriage.

I hope.

No one outside of Wyreton knew there were extensive tunnels beneath the estate, and her own people would never betray her House, not even to the Queen.  Yet she daren't leave any trace behind, just in case.

From her reticule, she pulled out a thin canister of bio-bandage to seal shut the assassin's wound.  She yearned for a mirror to see how badly she'd scar, resisting her vanity that insisted she cover the ugly cut with a scarf.  She didn't feel much damage.  Sig knew very well what he was about.

She had no lady's maid to help her strip off the gown, so she heaved her skirts up about her waist, picked up her remaining slipper, and ran down the corridor in her stockings with nothing but a hand on the wall to guide her.  No light, in case someone was watching.  No sound.  No trail for Majel to follow.

Once well away from the house, she exited the tunnel in a dim, empty stable. No horses lived in these stalls, but Charlotte—and her mother before her—had always been suspicious with private caches and safehouses  throughout Londonium.  With ruthless House Krowe in control of Britannia, a lady never knew when she'd have to make a run for it, and a Wyre always went in style.

Donning a full-length cape, she hopped on a motorized scooter—her own invention, of course—and headed for their meeting place at the Thames dock.  She checked her timepiece and pressed the accelerator.  Lord Regret had been adamant about the time.  Once the accident happened, the docks would close down within minutes just to make sure no one escaped.  Majel would claim she wanted to capture the assassin who'd dared harm her Physician, but she'd want to ensure Charlotte wasn't escaping the net at the same time.  Five to ten minutes would be all they had to get out of the Britannian airlocks.

She skidded to a halt at the dock, Pier 371 as he'd ordered.  The motor started in a rumbling roar of smoke.  Oh, dear, the Captain could surely use my assistance in fine-tuning his engines. Perhaps he'll allow me to make a few modifications as we sail…

The ship lifted off and she stared at it a moment, dumbfounded.  She opened her mouth to shout, but it would do no good. No one would hear over the engines, and she daren't draw attention to herself.  How ironic that she'd been betrayed by her own assassin.  "Dead" wouldn't matter if she couldn't get off Britannia.  There was only so long she could hide, so many favors she could claim, so many bribes…before the Queen's Ravens found her.

She squeezed her eyes shut and fought for calm.  Think, Wyre.  Think!

A hand closed around her arm and she nearly shrieked like a fishmonger in Cheapside.  Her eyes flew open and met Lord Regret's knowing smirk.

"Doubting the trustworthiness of your assassin, Lady Wyre?  Surely not."

He guided her further down the dock to a much smaller ship.  Fighting back shock and relief, she stared doubtfully at the tiny boat.  Would it even be large enough for the two of them?  Then an overwhelming sense of loss washed over her, weakening her knees.  My research. Lost.  What if it falls into hands worse than Majel's?  Her voice trembled as badly as her hands.  "My trunks?"

Inclining his head, he waved her aboard, smiling at her torn stockings and slightly scorched red silk.  "Already aboard, Your Grace.  I thought it best to have my own red  herrings.  Lord Regret would make almost as an attractive lure as Lady Wyre for the footpads and pirates lurking about the docks.  Now shall we be away?"

Charlotte spared one last glance at the glorious city stretched out along the Thames.  The Tower of Londonium rose like a gloomy dark sentinel against the brightly-lit night.  Even at this late hour, crows flew about the tower, their eerie caws echoing like ghosts in the nearly silent city.  Britannians everywhere were pausing in their chores and celebrations to watch with awe and not a little dread as a small distant planet began to slide in front of the silvered moon.  For almost an hour, the moon would be completely hidden in the dark of that planet. While I slip far, far away.

"I'll not regret it if I never see Londonium again."

Gregar for Thanksgiving 2

I am Shadow.  I am Death.

RBW Thanksgiving Edition

I haven't been posting weekly Romance Biggest Winner updates because there's not been much to report.  I've been hovering around the same number, up a pound, down a pound, wash and repeat over and over and over.

It's frustrating to say the least.

However, I've also gotten just a little bit lazy on my tracking.  Where I was tracking faithfully every day, I've just been so busy — and had a few too many slips — to keep up.  When I'm writing hard, I tend to get up early and stay up later, which makes me even more hungry.  And yes, I'm always tempted to use munchies to help me stay awake even longer.  Enter my nemesis, the Lay's potato chip.

But this NaNoWriMo I've been pretty strong.  I only indulged in chips once.  I even got a little exercise in last week — but I'm still not consistent yet.  Baby steps.

Yesterday I tracked my food before I ate it — planning my day out to the final point so I already knew I would have nothing else after the last apple snack.  I drank water with lemon (that I finally remembered to pick up), which helped me want even more water because I love the taste, especially bubbly water made by our SodaStream.

And today, I was finally thrilled to slip into that new decade on the scale.  .91% loss for RBW and 57 pounds lost for the year!  Woot!

Now a lot of you might be wondering what I'm going to do for Thanksgiving.  Will I make diet food?  Will I starve myself and gorge on all the goodies at dinner?

Here's my philosophy.  I love to cook the big dinner.  I make it the way my mom always made it, with a few extras that That Man's family likes.  I use the best quality ingredients I can find.  I make my own chicken broth for the gravy and noodles (and I don't skim the fat off).  I make bone broth from the turkey carcass for another round of healthy soups after the big day.  I make real food.

Many "light" and "fat free" products have added corn syrup and fillers to make them taste good.  So I don't often use them.  I do substitute light sour cream and light cheese occasionally because I personally can't taste the difference.  But when I'm cooking for twenty people on Thanksgiving day, I'm making the best food I possibly can and I'll use the real deal.

Will I have pie?  Yes.  Small pieces of both pumpkin and pecan.  Will I eat both mashed potatoes and carby homemade egg noodles?  Yep.  But I'll eat in moderation.  I'm going to have a filling Greek yogurt and Kashi breakfast.  I'll drink my water along with a gallon of coffee.  I'm preparing a healthy yet delicious spinach salad to eat along with the carbs, and my SIL is bringing a vegetable platter.  I'll try not to eat until I'm miserable, which shouldn't be too hard.  I'll be too busy serving and cleaning up to eat a lot anyway.  As soon as the main late lunch is consumed, I'll throw the carcass into a pot and start the late dinner soup fest with the leftovers.  (We'll have people visiting all day)

So I won't "diet" that day — but I will try to eat in moderation.  I'll go into the day with a plan and do the best I can.  It's only one day a year, the only day I'm responsible for cooking delicious food for so many people, and I'm going to enjoy it!

NaNoWriMo2011 Day 21

I haven't given up on hitting 50K but wallowed in the glow of finishing ZCR a bit too long.  It's hard to switch gears without much down time, especially this time of year.  I've been a shopping, cleaning fool the past two weeks preparing for Thanksgiving.  I've got two fridges absolutely stuffed with all the fixings.  Cooking will start Tuesday night this week, Wednesday is prep day when I'll bake the pies, make at least 10 batches of egg noodles, and mash 20 pounds of potatoes.  (We like our carbs…)  Then of course the turkey needs to go into the oven by 8 AM Thursday and we'll have a house full of guests until late Thursday night.

Writing?  In all of that?

Yes.  I'm trying.  I did some plotting and brainstorming for Lord Regret's Price.  I also decided to see if I could expand the free prequel, Lady Wyre's Regret.  IF I can get to RT next April, I want to have something to hand out and sign (since Lady Doctor Wyre is an ebook).  I'm thinking about printing up a chapbook of the prequel and a nice excerpt.  But of course I want it to be the absolute best I have to offer, and there's a lot more to how Lady Wyre and Regret meet than I've given you so far.

NaNoWriMo count:  40,450 words

Snippet:  this is continuing the free read prequel, Lady Wyre's Regret.  First draft only, etc. etc.  I love the little line tying into the next book….  What exactly is Lord Regret's price?

Waving regally, Charlotte paused on the front steps of Wyreton and awaited her public assassination.  Her heartbeat ramped to supersonic speeds, but she managed to smile for the millions of Britannians watching the Solstice Eclipse festivities.  Cameras flashed, broadcasting her departure for the royal ball.

As the Duchess of Wyre, she'd be fashionably late. Eternally

late, if Lord Regret manages to pull off this charade.

She heard the shocked whispers and gasps before she felt the assassin's blade digging into her neck.  This time he didn't spare any pressure, deliberately drawing enough blood to leave DNA evidence on her spotless white marble.

It must look real and authentic.

Drawing in a deep breath, she let a shrill scream echo across the plaza.  She clawed at his arm locked about her throat so tightly she couldn't breathe.  Combined with the rigid corset, she was afraid she might actually pass out.

Pain burned across her throat and she screamed again.  She hadn't counted on being so terrified.  Her orders had been

explicit.  He must rough her up enough to make it look real.  He must draw her blood, obviously wounding her severely enough that the general public would believe her dead.

Yet she couldn't help that niggling doubt.  What if Majel had gotten to him?  What if someone had upped her price, making the amount on her head too attractive for the famous assassin to resist?  Every man has a price.  What is Lord Regret's?