NaNo: Blessed quiet, time to work
Nov. 20th, 2007 02:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shalannaI came awake with a start after dreaming that I'd woken up when my husband got up to go to the bathroom. He was still in bed, as was the dog, and neither one was coughing. I panicked a moment, wondering if there was a problem, but they both blinked when I slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom. Checked on Mama and she's not coughing. Miracle of miracles, wonder of wonders!
But did I TCOB and then go back to bed? No, I checked my chapter's status in that silly Gather contest and then typed on my NaNo novel. None of the NaNo is ready for prime time.
So here's an excerpt of a few snatches of dialogue from a freewriting session. Pray take and examine, that it might amuse thee.
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"I've heard nothing but criticism from my vicious aunt this holiday, and my favorite bowl just got broken by somebody's brat," Courtney shouted at the closed-and-locked bathroom door, "so if YOU cannot handle a simple request to leave the sage out of the turkey dressing, then YOU are not the woman I thought you were."
Shrieks echoed into the sink beyond the door. Her sister Sydney was definitely not planning to come out and co-host this Thanksgiving dinner, as promised. That rat.
"Pardon me." A vaguely familiar-looking man--someone's date, Courtney thought she remembered--tapped her shoulder. "Then who IS she, because I need to page her and get in to use this relief station. Unless you have another?"
"Turn left at the top of the stairs," she said. The unmistakable aroma of something burning reached her. "Oh, God."
"No need to address me as God," said the man, rushing for the stairs. "Your Highness will do fine."
She got into the kitchen just as smoke began pouring out of the toaster oven.
"Journalists consider their efforts the “first draft of history,” her newspaper-editor cousin Kara was informing the group.
The group snorted as one and fell to the carpet laughing. "They definitely need to get over themselves," said one of the teenagers.
Cousin Kara stuck her nose in the air, looking miffed. "Well, I declare. We most of us devote enormous effort to ensuring the accuracy and fairness of what we report."
"Fair and balanced," shrieked the teenager's mom--one of Mama's cousins?--sending the group rolling again with another paroxysm of laughter.
"This gathering took off from Crazy Station at four AM and quickly passed the outer moons of Jupiter on its way to some distant galaxy," Courtney muttered as she pulled the ruined rolls out of the oven. "Has anyone seen Jake? He was watching these for me."
"Who? Oh, you mean that guy who just left with the tall anorexic witch with four-inch stilettos and black talons?"
Oops. "I should've known it wasn't about the dressing," she said as she dumped the rolls into the trash. There should be another package somewhere . . . she shouldn't have heated them up this soon, anyway. . . .
But did I TCOB and then go back to bed? No, I checked my chapter's status in that silly Gather contest and then typed on my NaNo novel. None of the NaNo is ready for prime time.
So here's an excerpt of a few snatches of dialogue from a freewriting session. Pray take and examine, that it might amuse thee.
"I've heard nothing but criticism from my vicious aunt this holiday, and my favorite bowl just got broken by somebody's brat," Courtney shouted at the closed-and-locked bathroom door, "so if YOU cannot handle a simple request to leave the sage out of the turkey dressing, then YOU are not the woman I thought you were."
Shrieks echoed into the sink beyond the door. Her sister Sydney was definitely not planning to come out and co-host this Thanksgiving dinner, as promised. That rat.
"Pardon me." A vaguely familiar-looking man--someone's date, Courtney thought she remembered--tapped her shoulder. "Then who IS she, because I need to page her and get in to use this relief station. Unless you have another?"
"Turn left at the top of the stairs," she said. The unmistakable aroma of something burning reached her. "Oh, God."
"No need to address me as God," said the man, rushing for the stairs. "Your Highness will do fine."
She got into the kitchen just as smoke began pouring out of the toaster oven.
"Journalists consider their efforts the “first draft of history,” her newspaper-editor cousin Kara was informing the group.
The group snorted as one and fell to the carpet laughing. "They definitely need to get over themselves," said one of the teenagers.
Cousin Kara stuck her nose in the air, looking miffed. "Well, I declare. We most of us devote enormous effort to ensuring the accuracy and fairness of what we report."
"Fair and balanced," shrieked the teenager's mom--one of Mama's cousins?--sending the group rolling again with another paroxysm of laughter.
"This gathering took off from Crazy Station at four AM and quickly passed the outer moons of Jupiter on its way to some distant galaxy," Courtney muttered as she pulled the ruined rolls out of the oven. "Has anyone seen Jake? He was watching these for me."
"Who? Oh, you mean that guy who just left with the tall anorexic witch with four-inch stilettos and black talons?"
Oops. "I should've known it wasn't about the dressing," she said as she dumped the rolls into the trash. There should be another package somewhere . . . she shouldn't have heated them up this soon, anyway. . . .
