A.M. Gray's Blog, page 21

Word count

I try to keep track of the amount of words I write each day. I like to keep count and it also pushes me to write everyday. I do not want to see a zero word day.BUT... it’s almost impossible.I write in Google docs  drive. I plot and drag cork-board stuff around in Scrivener. I write in Word for Windows. I make notes about story ideas in OneNote, Evernote and Google Keep. And I scribble in half a dozen different coloured physical notebooks in pen. I write blog posts, book reviews for Goodreads, short stories, longer stories, fanfics and I am working on too many longer stories at once.I found a word count script that works in Google drive, but only for documents I have stored in a particular folder. And I often forget to put them in that particular folder. I have 400 documents in the writing prompt file, alone. Not counting completed ones. When I say I have a thousand ideas, I am not joking.Scrivener has word counts for each session in each document, but I have a dozen of them. At the moment, I have four open and I have to reset the counts each day.Plus, I am plotting out the story I may write for NaNoWrimo in Scrivener. (National novel writing month - write 50k words in a month.) Actually, I am plotting two different stories; I haven’t decided which to write, yet. Each method works for different things or in different ways so there is no one product that does everything I need. I can access google drive on several different machines. Evernote is brilliant for storing (and tagging) research and webpages for fledgling ideas. And is also multi device accessible.I'm not sure why I still use Word; habit? Perhaps. I am sometimes set in my ways. Old dog ... you know the rest. Mortal fear of online failure?I have acquired most of these newer programs in the last year or so, so Word is still familiar to me and I am clearly clinging to it. I try to keep track but it is obvious that my word count is underestimated.

I’m glad to see it wasn’t my genes that were the bad ones.

Writer’s Block
In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite.

Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence.

Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!http://writeworld.tumblr.com/post/810... glad to see it wasn’t mygenes that were the bad ones,” he said. His legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles and he held a cold beer in his hand.She glanced where he was looking and saw their child. He was almost two years old and had a bucket on his head. He was spinning in circles until he fell over on the grass. She could hear him laughing with delight from inside the bucket.“How do you know you didn’t do exactly the same thing when you were a baby?” She placed the large bowl of salad on the outdoor table.“I would never do anything quite so silly.”“Right.”As she turned to walk back inside, he grabbed her and hauled her onto his lap. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I will just ask her, you know?” His parents were joining them for a late lunch.“You wouldn’t.”“I would.” She stroked the back of his neck leaning in to whisper in his ear. “She likes me... she will tell me all of your, no doubt completely adorable baby stories. All the gossip.”“I’m sure there isn’t any.”They watched as their son stood, staggered a little to the side with dizziness and then started spinning in place again. His arms held out at his sides.“See,” he said, “that kid is nuts.”He passed her his beer bottle.“No thanks,” she said. “Not for me.”He gave her an odd look. “Is there something you should be telling me?” he asked in a very quiet voice. It wasn’t like her to refuse a beer.She smiled as if she had a secret.“Seriously?” he asked her.“You wanna see how the next gene experiment turns out?”“Do I?” He hugged her almost hard enough to hurt and then apologised.She teased him, “It won’t hurt him. You know that.”“You sure it’s a him? We already have one.”“Awww... but look at him. He’s so cute.”The he in question was now trying to balance upside down with his head still inside the bucket and his shoulders balanced on the rim.He fell over backwards and then stood and looked their way. He held his arms out and yelled, “Ta dah!” as if he had just performed a miraculous feat of magic.“Yay,” they cheered and applauded.He bowed to his parents and then started to run towards them on his chubby legs, the bucket still clutched in his hand. “I’ll be happy no matter what sex it is,” he said.“Healthy and whole that is all I want.”They scooped him up and made room for him on their laps. “Do well tell grandma?” he checked.“Not yet. Twelve weeks.” She brushed her son’s hair away from his forehead.“What’s the matter?”“This is going to sound crazy...”“But...” he prompted.“I love this little guy so much; how will there be room for another one?”“You worry about the oddest things. Of course, there will be room.” He touched her face with his hand. “The heart expands, you know.”“It does?”“Infinitely.” He grinned at her. “You love me, don’t you?”“Yeah... yeah, I do.”“Love!” the little boy cried.“Yes, baby, we love you.”Tyres crunched on the drive.“They’re here,” she said. “You had better heat up the grill.”“Give me a kiss first. Pay the toll before I let you go.”“Kiss?” the little boy asked.They each kissed a cheek, then set him down on his feet. He ran off to get his bucket. His father stood, picked up kid and the bucket, when he ran back. “Let’s go say Hi to grandma.”“Hey,” she called. “I never got my kiss.”Turning back, he kissed her thoroughly until his son hit him with the bucket.“Ow... can we lose the damn bucket?”~~~~© AM Gray 2014

Abandoned Research Institute

Writer’s Block A picture says a thousand words. Write them.Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
Pic Source: furuchi666.deviantart.comhttp://writeworld.tumblr.com/post/928...
~~~~~~
The party of armed soldiers crept through the scrubland surrounding the building until they could see it clearly. “What the heck is that?” the tallest man in the party asked.“Research institute,” the leader replied.The first man studied the building. It was maybe five storeys tall, had very few windows and the remains of a safety railing around the roof. “So... what do they study in there? Something that doesn’t like sunlight.”The woman snorted. “You’re not as dumb as you look, Jack.”He grinned at her, clearly not taking offence. “What’s with the safety railing? Do you reckon?”“Overzealous government department.”“Ooh.” He made a low whistle. “Government, you think. I vote for private company.”“Why?” she asked despite herself.“They haven’t trimmed the trees nearest the building.”“Oh, come on. That could be cover.”“Cover? How? The thing’s a huge ugly box.”“Are you two quite finished?” the leader asked.The others were studying them. “What are you two up to?” another man asked.“Up to?” she repeated. “Nothing.” She didn't look at the tall man, but it seemed deliberate.“Oh, ho,” the guy crowed. “You are doing it.”Her eyes narrowed at him. “We were arguing.”“Exactly.”“Doing what?” another younger member asked.“Ask your mum.”“Huh?”“Sex, you moron.”The young man pointed at Jack. “With him?”“Oh for...” She swore under her breath, rolled her eyes, adjusted her weapon and stalked away.The leader raised an eyebrow. “Jack?”He folded his arms. “I have nothing to say.”The squad all chortled “Definitely not stupid.” The leader folded his map. “Let’s get going. Maybe you should go that way, Jack.” He pointed in the opposite direction to the way the woman had gone.~~~~© AM Gray 2014

Cup of coffee

Writer’s BlockA picture says a thousand words. Write them.Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
Source: forgotten-tale.deviantart.comhttp://writeworld.tumblr.com/post/934... the cup down,” he said.Perched on the end of the hotel bed, she was some distance from both the side tables. But she wanted to obey him so she bent down and placed it on the carpet between her feet. Then she put her suddenly sweaty hands down onto the surface of the bed. He noticed her do it. Of course he did. She was starting to suspect that he noticed everything she did. And she had never realised.“Did you wear that skirt for me?”“Yes.”“The shoes?”“H-how do you mean?”“They are higher than you normally wear.”“Yes.” He did notice everything.“It changes the way you walk.”She wasn’t sure that required an answer.“Walk for me.”She stood, smoothed her skirt down her thighs and stepped carefully around the discarded cup. Incredibly aware of his scrutiny, she walked over to the window, pivoted on her sole and walked back. Her heart was beating rapidly. The blood pumped noisily in her ears.She stopped and waited for further instructions.“Perfect,” he said.He crouched at her feet and collected the cup before standing and ushering her towards the door. He unlocked it and she went before him out and back into the hotel suite and the party. She was completely aware that he was behind her and that more than a few guests looked their way.They had not been gone long enough to do anything; their clothes were not disarrayed but still people noticed their return. One woman had a look that it took her a while to decipher. And then she understood... it was envy.~~~~© AM Gray 2014

Princes

I was reading one of Georgette Heyer’s murder mysteries - yes, I know, hands up who knew that she wrote murder mysteries. My hand stays firmly down. But, in any case, the story ‘No wind of blame’ starts with the changes to a household when they are expecting a Russian prince as a guest.I have met a few princes and princesses in my time. Tanya, the princess of Banda was an acquaintance when I lived in Jakarta but we never did make it to Banda Island. Travel there was pretty tricky; erratic flights cancelled at a moment’s notice.My first prince was Lorenzo Montesini, who bore an Italian title: Prince Giustiniani, Count of the Phanaar, Knight of Saint Sophia, Baron Alexandroff. He was a guest at a party held by Yvonne Swift at her terrace house in Chippendale. Now she was a fabulous woman. She used to be a nun, and when she retired from the convent, she opened a law firm in inner city Sydney and did criminal law. I worked at Legal Aid and she defended a lot of our clients. She knew everyone in Sydney.Her secretary, whose name I can’t remember, Mavis or Mabel or something old fashioned like that, was as old as Yvonne and took a long time to get the hang of word processors. For example, if she made a mistake, she retyped the entire document instead of just correcting the mistake. Lorenzo had just published a book about Sydney society called Cardboard Cantata and was engaged to Primrose Dunlop - usually referred to as PittyPat - to distinguish her form her mother. The wedding was the talk of Sydney society and was planned in Venice but was cancelled some days before the date when the best man took too much interest in the stand-in for the father of the bride. Still not entirely sure why that caused the cancellation of the entire ceremony, but it did.Kid 3 assures me that this all sounds like a script for a fanfiction, but it is true. You know the old saying about truth being stranger than fiction.Yvonne's obituaryThe making of an Australian princessAll dressed up but nowhere left to go 

Castle of trees

Writer’s Block A picture says a thousand words. Write them.Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
Pic Source: nele-diel.deviantart.comhttp://writeworld.tumblr.com/post/890...~~~~~~ He stood, leaning on his staff and studied the glowing clump of trees in front of him. His companion had taken the chance to take a piss. He had argued with the wizard about the existence of such a thing, so seeing it glow vaguely malevolently in front of him reminded him of the urgent need to empty his bladder. Trees didn’t normally glow, nor did they do so with that weird blue light, but then again, this wasn’t a normal forest, either.The wizard tried to gather his thoughts. He was tired and it had taken them too long to find this place.“You said it was a spinney,” his companion said.“It is.”“Too big. Spinneys just provide cover for game birds.”“What else would you call it?” He yawned.“I dunno.” Silence for a minute while he thought about it. “Glowing grove?”“Huh. I like that.”“Next question... How the heck do we get in?”“We don’t; not without an invitation.” He was still leaning on his staff.“So we’re waiting for the invite? Or are you just putting it off?”“It’s not going to be easy.”“Can’t find the doorbell?”He chuckled. “No. They know we’re here.”“And speaking of... what arethey?”“Yakshinis.”“Never heard of them.”“They are kind of like fairies which is why it was so difficult to find... but this is home of only the females of the species-”“Oh, ho,” the man crowed and rubbed his hands.“Exactly. And they are so beautiful.” A wistful sigh. “Full bodied and voluptuous.”“Eh?” He didn’t understand the word.He held his staff in the crook of his arm to make the explanatory movement with both hands.A low whistle. “Nice.” He stared at the grove. “What’s the catch?”The wizard nodded. There was often a catch; maybe always. “ If they like you, they will give you what you want.”“And if they don’t?”“They suck your blood.”“Ewww. It might be worth it, if they didn’t take too much of it.” He glanced at the wizard who made a face. “Dammit. Sucked dry, huh?”“Yes.”“Wait a sec,” the man said. “I get the idea that you’ve met them before.”A nod.“And you didn’t get sucked dry.”Silence.“Or did you?” he asked, with a knowing chuckle.“We should get going,” the wizard said.“Oh, ho. Seriously? So we might get some loving?”“Be careful. Try to make it about them and you will get out with all your blood still in your veins.”“O-kay. I reckon I can manage that.” He studied the wizard who was yawning again. “You seem kind of tired, though.”“So a bed will be a welcome sight. Come.” He strode towards the trees, the man followed him, and as they approached, the wizard banged the base of his staff firmly on the ground just in front of the trees. It let out a sound like a low bell ringing.The trees opened a gap wide enough to allow them to enter.The man gasped at the beauty of the woman who appeared in the gap. “Wizard Conon,” she said. “I am verypleased to see you again.” She almost purred it at him.He bowed his head. “The pleasure is mine, Rohini. You honour us with your presence.” He waved a hand at his gaping companion. “This is Edwin.”“Edwin.” She spoke the name as if it now belonged to her.Overwhelmed, he fell to his knees. “L-lady,” he stammered.She stepped past him and slipped her arm through Conon’s. “Enter and be welcome. I missed you,” she breathed at him. Her breast rubbed against his arm and her other hand brushed his face. “You look exhausted.”“Let me sleep for an hour and I will be rested enough for you.”Edwin tried to stand to follow them and failed. He kept staring at her.“You will sleep in my arms,” she promised with a kiss to his cheek.“All four of them?” he checked.She laughed and the sound made Edwin stumble again. “If you wish.”“Edwin needs help,” he said.She laughed again and made a gesture to some other Yakshini who hurried to help him inside. The trees shifted to close the gap. ~~~~© AM Gray 2014 

Soul meet death

Writer’s Block A picture says a thousand words. Write them.Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
Source: theboyofcheese.deviantart.comhttp://writeworld.tumblr.com/post/945...,” she said nervously. She had been so tired; so very tired. Days of a fever that was too high. Her body could not fight the illness any more and her fevered dreams kept her from restoring her strength. Her strength was less to begin with; she gave too much of her own meals to her younger brothers and sisters.She had felt better when her spirit had passed out of her exhausted body. The last thing she had expected to meet was death himself but, remembering her manners, she greeted the dark spirit. She assumed that Death was male.“You are Death?” she checked. He wore the black hooded cloak, the scythe to harvest souls and had an hourglass hung around his neck.“Yes.” The voice was sibilant.“I feel better now.”“Yes.”“Is it possible to go back?”“Why would you want to? Your life was not easy.”She wondered how Death knew that. She wondered also what her life would be now; such as it was. “When I have rested, I would like to go back and look after my siblings.”“So young,” Death hissed.She wasn’t sure whether Death meant her or her siblings. “They need me. The youngest is not yet one. They have no-one else.” The thought occurred to her that if there was no-one to look after them, they would soon be joining her on this side of the black curtain.Death’s head shook. “I cannot.” A pause. “I harvest the marked souls. I do not mark them.”“Oh.” Not that she was sure what she could offer Death. She had nothing to bargain with. “I understand.” She held her hand out to shake. “Thank you, for explaining.”The hood jerked back a little as if Death was surprised that she would want to touch him. Tentatively a hand slipped from under the robe sleeve to shake hers.  She gripped the skeletal offering firmly. “I am ready to go, now,” she said with dignity.“No-one touches me,” Death said.“Oh, I’m sorry.” She nearly patted him with her other hand to apologise before hastily drawing it back. The hood followed the movement.“Close your eyes,” Death whispered to her.When she opened them she found herself back in her sickbed with the eager faces of her siblings gathered around her.Marked for death but not collected, she knew she was living on borrowed time. Nothing could stop her now; her entire life was devoted to watching the children in her care grow to adulthood.The day after her last sibling reached legal age, she lay in her bed. “I’m ready to go now,” she announced to the empty room; purposefully echoing the words she had said to him years ago.She closed her eyes and knew that he would take her this time, if only to feel her hold his hand again. Fifteen years was all the time she needed and it was nothing to Death.But Death was not quite prepared to be hugged.~~~~© AM Gray 2014

The chosen one

Writer’s Block A picture says a thousand words. Write them.Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
Source: medeiros-yasmin.deviantart.comhttp://writeworld.tumblr.com/post/988... crowd watched the slim, pale-skinned girl walk towards the light. She wore a flower crown of small red blooms. Her long blonde hair was scented and recently crimped; it flowed loose around her shoulders, her feet were bare, and her arms thin and delicate. Her dress was transparent lace that barely covered her thighs.The crowd sighed with anticipation as she walked towards the glowing light. The hopes of the city went with her on this special day of the year, the only day that the path was open.Two girls stood near a guard. One of the girls snorted. It sounded derisive. She was nearly as tall as the guard she stood behind.“Shhh,” the guard hissed at them. “Show some respect.”“Uh, huh,” said the smaller one. It also sounded disdainful.“What?” the guard asked, seemingly despite himself.The girl pointed at the pale figure, stepping as she nervously approached the end of the path. “ She’s the chosen one?”“So the soothsayers said.”“I’ll give her ten minutes - no fifteen ‘coz she’s pretty. Bet you a copper piece.”“Five,” the taller girl countered. “You’re on.” They shook hands.The guard shook his head. “The seers are never wrong.”“They got it wrong every other time,” the smaller girl pointed out. “And we need better luck this year with the war coming.”They both looked at him expectantly. His mouth opened and then shut again. “They know,” he insisted, but it sounded less sure somehow. He’d watched this ritual before as well. Each year the chosen one was rejected and the city survived, but did not flourish. “Ten minutes,” he added.“Deal,” they chorused before turning back to watch the spectacle.He watched them out of the corner of his eye. They were obviously young women of the local people. He guessed they were about marrying age - they looked it, but he often had trouble telling with the locals - they matured early. Their bodies were in stark contrast to the waif that had walked into the light; they were full bodied and muscular. “Why do you think they’ve got it wrong?” he asked.“Gran says the seers have got soft and-”“-forgotten the old ways. He’s an-”“-animal and he wants a mate-”“-not a twig that will snap when he touches her. And besides-”“-it’s supposed to be about progeny and-”“-she doesn’t have any hips.”He thought about it. Maybe they were right. But that would mean the seers were wrong. He glanced towards the path the girl had walked. He could still see her back.“Two minutes,” said the tall girl.“She’s nervous,” the other noted.“I remember my gran’da saying the old nursery rhyme,” the guard said, his voice low. He recited, “Some gave him flowers, and some gave him meat but what he really wanted was a pear from the street.”They said the last line with him. Another guard shushed them all. The girls chuckled.“Haven’t heard that one for years.”“She didn’t take a pear.”“Pear,” the guard repeated. The girl vanished. “Do you think they meant pair?”“You are not making any sense.”“Pair,” he said, louder now. Silence for a minute. There was a loud scream from up the path.The crowd groaned as the flower crown was thrown out.“That’s it!” The guard grabbed both girls. “He wants two; a pair,” he said.“Oh…”“And you’re right. Run. I’ll cover you.” He started dragging them towards the entrance.“Are you nuts?” the taller girl almost shouted at him.“Do it for the city.” He glanced around but nobody was trying to stop them… yet.“What?”“He can’t be worse than your current beau,” said the shorter girl.“Now is NOT the time to discuss my love life.”“No,” the guard interrupted. “The worst that can happen is that he throws you out.”“You think? What if he keeps us?”“Well that could be-” he searched for a word “- interesting.”“You try having sex with the beast.”“He doesn’t want me!” the guard argued. “And he doesn’t want her.” The blonde girl stumbled down the path, crying. “Quick! Before the path closes.”“Let’s do it!” The shorter girl said as she grabbed her friend’s hand. “I’ll race you. Tell Gran bye from Aubine and Elaina.”Hands clasped they dashed down the path, their long legs pumping and both were laughing as they ran. They were too fast for most of the guards. He ran after them and pushed away people who tried to stop them. It took the commanding officer too long to realise that he wasn’t trying to stop them. He had to tackle one guard that almost reached them.The crowd shouted encouragement and in a moment the girls were gone.The guard was arrested and held with too much force by his previous companions.Everyone waited for the outburst; the blonde girl still sobbed loudly.The guard started to think that he had made a terrible mistake, but then the thorn trees on either side of the path trembled and shifted and the path was closed.The representative of the seers slapped him across the face. “What have you done?” he screamed at him.“He doesn’t want the girl you want to fuck.”That earned him another slap.“You don’t fight in the war; we do.” He appealed to his commander. “And we need the beast to fight on our side.”The commander looked astonished. “You sneaky little-”“-He’ll fight to protect his women and his children,” he added, “if he has any.”“You will go to the dungeons for this,” the seer threatened.“No, he won’t.” The commander made a sign to release the guard. “You don’t fight. You’ll be safe in the temple.” He raised his voice, “The offering had been accepted!” he shouted.The crowd repeated it and the seer huffed in frustration.The freed guard looked at the thorn barrier and prayed that the girls would be okay.~~~~© AM Gray 2014

Come dance with me and all your troubles will be forgotten.

Writer’s Block
In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite.

Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence.

Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!http://writeworld.tumblr.com/post/954... dance with me and all your troubles will be forgotten." He took her hand as he said it and tried to pull her to her feet. She stayed stubbornly seated and frowned at him. He was a constant thorn in her side.To the ballroom, it looked as if he bent back down to hear some comment she had made - clearly witty enough to make him throw back his head and laugh loudly - before he gripped tighter to her hand and scooped her off her seat with his other arm and spun her onto the dance floor. She had to dance with him; it was that or be dragged. Her attendants could not follow her.“I don’t want to dance.”“I know.”“You just forced me because you are much stronger than me.” He was almost a foot taller than her to start. “I could snap you like a twig.” He smiled as he said it. “And I might if you persist with this behaviour.”“You are supposed to be making me forget my troubles, not threatening me.”“Oh, yes, that’s right. Troubles.”“You,” she hissed at him, “Areone of the troubles I want to forget.”A loud chuckle was the reply.They danced on for some time before he spoke again, “Your life would be infinitely more complicated if I was not in it.”She glowered at him.He ignored her and scanned the room quickly. “You need me,” he added.“You? Why?”“Do you see the men by the stairs?” he spun her to face them without waiting for her answer. “The other group by the bar?” Another turn. “And the new group about to approach your father? Do you see them?”Some of them did not look happy to see her dancing with him. She wondered if he had made an offer of his own.“Do you see them?” he repeated when she hadn’t answered him.“Yes. But-” “They,” he interrupted, “will make your life either long and boring or alternatively, short and extremely painful.”“Pfft. How can you know that?”“They want your title, not you.”She was silent; trying to think.“I am your best offer, Princess and you would be wise to choose me.”So he had made an offer? She didn’t know that. “I don’t get a choice,” she murmured.“You do. Which way?” he asked as they moved seemingly effortlessly across the dance floor. “The garden?” It lay down the stairs past the party from Uzgovia.She shook her head.“A drink?” The bar had been staked out by the Moldavian group.Another shake.“Do you wish to speak to your father?”And face the party from Kirzbekia? No.“Fresh air,” she suggested.He danced her out of the crowd; it shifted to fill the space they had left and with his hand pressed firmly against her lower back, he escorted her outside to the long verandah. The force of his glare made the couple already out there, think better of it and retreat to the ballroom.She put her palms flat on the stone balustrade and took as deep a breath as her gown would allow. The air was cold and bracing after the stifling warmth of the crowded room. Was he actually suggesting that she would not live long after her father’s death? Was that what he was suggesting? Her father was an old man and he had been ill recently. That was what had fired the starting gun for this race to marry her off.He stood behind her.She closed her eyes. Her world was narrowing and she felt trapped. The cold air on her exposed skin made her shiver. She startled when his jacket dropped around her shoulders but she held it around her body gratefully. It also gave her something to hold onto. Her hands would be shaking if they were not clinging to his lapels.But she remembered who she was, pulled herself together and turned to face him.“I’m trapped,” she said, still staring at his feet.“You chose this corner.”Perhaps she had, but why was he here? She inhaled and lifted her gaze to his face. “Why?”He adjusted the hang of the jacket, pulling it closer around her body. She was aware of how close his hands were to hers. He seemed to be taking time to form an answer. “I don’t need the land, I don’t need the money, I don’t need the power, and God knows I don’t need the complication.” He paused.She was a complication? So why did he care what happened to her? She opened her mouth to reply, prepared to be offended when he laid a finger against her lips. “But... I want you,” he said.Silence.She blinked. Staring down at her, he removed the finger. She had to stop herself licking her lips. “Want?” she checked.He nodded.“Me?”“Yes. I don’t do arranged marriages. I can’t tell you how many offers I have refused.”“Is that supposed to make you more attractive?”He grinned. “Does it?”“No.”“What would make me more attractive?” he asked with interest.“Nothing.” She had already said it before she thought about it. “Ha! I’m already perfect,” he crowed.“That is not what I meant and you know it.”Another grin. He peered off the edge of the balcony and then asked, “Who will your father choose?”“I-I don’t know.”“He hasn’t discussed it with you?”“No.” She hurried to add, “I know the politics and so on... I just don’t know...” Her personal feelings were not a priority for her father. She had met or worse, heard of, all the marriage options and none appealed to her. The man standing in front of her wanted her. Or said that he did. She thought that he could make her laugh and he was certainly attractive enough. As he had already said, he was also powerful.“We dance well together,” she said.He didn’t respond but he took her hand and shifted it down to press flat against the pocket of his jacket. She could feel something inside the pocket. It was a ring. Their eyes met.“If you are already legally married, he cannot force you to marry another.”“No.” Her hand reached into the pocket to feel the cold metal. “They could just kill you,” she suggested.He was not surprised by her words. “I can look after myself. And I can protect you.”She nodded. Holding her hand up, she showed him the ring now placed on her third finger. It didn’t surprise her that it was a perfect fit. “But it must be legal.”He smiled. “Yes.” A pause. “One more thing,” he said before he leaned down and kissed her. When they broke apart, she could hear feet running on the verandah. He lifted her up and threw her from the edge.She landed on some kind of trampoline, was hauled off by men who clearly worked for him, with no dignity and a lot of muttered apologies for touching her, before he followed after. He grabbed her hand and they ran to a waiting vehicle. Voices shouted down at them. After a rushed car trip she found herself standing in front of a priest. They were across the border within the hour and she was in his bedroom fifteen minutes after that; it had to be consummated as the final step in the legal process.Still dressed and lying on his chest, with his arms around her, she said, “You realise everything after thatescape will be a letdown?”He smiled. “I am glad you called it an escape and not a kidnapping.”She chuckled.“The best is yet to come...wife.”She blushed. “I wouldn’t know.”His head drew back in surprise. “Oh. I hadn’t planned for that.”“I am amazed; you seemed to plan for everything else.”“I think you are very attractive, why wouldn’t I believe other people thought so, as well?”Admirers had been around, at least until her status or her father scared them away. “I’ve kissed people,” she defended. “I gathered that.”She almost had to be peeled off him to get out of the car.“Think of it as dancing of a different kind,” he added. His hand under her chin lifted her face up to his. “And we danced very well.”“Yes, we did.”He was as good as his word; she forgot all her troubles for quite some time.~~~~~~In the morning she informed her father by video link that she was no longer on the marriage market and that she would return home after her honeymoon to make a more formal announcement.He had to agree. They had sent a notarised copy of the certificate to him and he had already read it. But that wasn’t what convinced him; he was reassured by how happy his daughter looked. Happier than he had seen her for a long time.“She looks well wedded,” his secretary commented with a snort.“She is with a man who values her enough to fight for her.”Another snort. “Fight? He stoleher.”“The plan worked,” said the King. He held his hand out. “Pay up.”“A ridiculous bet--”“Pay up. The kingdom is safe; doubled in size, with borders to open between them. My daughter is happy and well protected.” He made a small pleased noise as the coin landed in his palm. “I still don’t understand how you knew he would take her.”“Tell a man like that, that he can’thave something and it becomes even more desirable.”~~~~© AM Gray 2014

Hurt passes a milestone

*banner made by goldengirl2707I get a special sense of wonder from stats. Weird, I know. But with people reviewing less and less, the only sign I have that people are reading my fanfiction is the stats that fanfiction.net provides. A lot of my stats are re-reads and they can’t review a second time.There is a ‘legacy’ button that gives you a table of all your hits, how many reviews, words, communities etc. for each story posted. At the moment, my legacy table looks like this.

I was refreshing like a newbie to watch Hurt pass the half million mark.Hurt was my super angsty story (I made myself sob)  of Sam and Bella based on the song by the Nine Inch Nails. The cover by Johnny Cash is in my short list of cover songs better than the original.Their love is complicated by the fact that Sam is with his imprint, Emily, but she treats him very badly; sure that she will never lose him. And Bella is lost and hunted by vampires and struggling with her own emotions. It always struck me as odd in the books that, way before Bella worked out that Jake was a wolf, her life was pretty heavily impacted by Sam. He found her when she was lost in the forest after chasing Edward and his actions saved her again in the meadow. She dreamed of him. And Bella’s dreams always meant something.blahblahblahinfinity keeps begging me to write the AU of my own fanfic in which Bella and Paul stay together. She swears she has scars from me breaking them up. Sniffs… I know, honey, I know. I sobbed when I wrote it and I still cry whenever I read that chapter.Another story ‘I’ll be home forChristmas’ has ever so quietly crept up the statistics table. It now pulls the same number of daily hits as Closer to God. An amazing feat given that it is a crazy premise (I made the older generation phase) and a very unusual pairing. It has also crept up to sixth place in my top ten for legacy hits. I am very proud of Josh and Izzy as well.And my total hits are over seven million.Whoa…Pats self on back.