Shot from the heart instead of the head
The last week has been a bit of a blur.
Writing, editing, more writing. Personal drama. Job-hunting. Getting my ducks in a row for Texas Frightmare Weekend next month. (You're going right? Right? Yeah, that's what I thought.) Posting snippets. Starting new projects, namely my submission for Phobias from Dark Continents Publishing. Then there's plotting, plotting, always with the plotting. I'm thinking two books ahead, and I'm not even done retooling the one I finished. My brain feels like split-pea soup. I just want to lie down and watch some bad television.
Today, though, I have places to be.
In the meantime though, I will leave this snippet with you. Casey Way and Mariska Kovol from Flesh Trap, circa 1992. I plan on writing more of these, and slapping them around town while I prepare the final draft of the manuscript. Consider them to be fun character studies? Otherwise, just get used to it.
"You have to do this. You have to make this promise, okay? If you don't I'll hate you forever. I'm allowed."
Mariska held out the knife she had hidden in the waist her skirt, expecting Casey to take it. His step-sister's pale blue petticoat made her legs look like bones until they disappeared into the combat boots she kept in her school bag, exchanging high heels for boots once she was out of her mother's line of sight. She was thirteen then, a full head taller than all the other girls at her school and built like a boy. The dresses her mother covered her up in slipped from her bony shoulders and absent hipbones, the gathers of fabric that Mariska tugged at like a choke collar, uncomfortable in her own skin.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go feed the turtle.
