proof of work, and unwork.

Killed any number of little darlings today.

He’d thought the brim would shade her face enough, the crown suitable to a woman. He hadn’t thought much more than that. He hadn’t thought, once her face was half-shaded, the dark brown felt matching the dun of her jacket and the dust on her boots, that the Isobel of the saloon would begin to disappear.

and

One of the faro dealers had developed a case of nerves that made him imagine spiders on his arms when he was falling asleep.  He’d sworn off drinking and moved south to take up farming, instead.  But Izzy hadn’t had a drop to drink, and quitting wasn’t an option for her.

Still ended up adding 3k new words.  Oops.  Chapter 8 is with betas. Chapter 9 and 10 revised.  Chapter 20 rough-drafted.


In other projects, we're 4,000 words into Gin & Tonic #4. The opening line: Going sixty miles an hour was no time to feel someone licking the side of your face.

So that's 7,000 words on the day.  God, bring me that pizza, and a drink.

And two new freelance stories just landed for editing.  Better make that drink a double.