Some stories are meant to be written, which would explain why some stories just flow right out your fingertips.
The quickest I've ever been able to write a novel is a month. A short story... about a week. Now I have no idea how long She-Wolf will be, but considering I started it the day I wrote my last post... I can't believe I've done 10k already... (I usually write 2k a day - if im lucky) I suppose it's easy when you start a project for fun...
Owen: No, flower. It's just easy when I'm in the mix.
(Ignoring Owen) It has to be written otherwise a certain Were... wont leave me alone. And considering I have a few story ideas planned or knocking about.... it would be nice to get around to actually writing them.
So another 2k and 'She-Wolf' will tip into a Novella... I really have no idea how long it will be but as soon as I have a clue I shall let you know.
So far I am liking it but I am always nervous about starting new projects...
Owen: I think it's going well so far... You might want to-
... SO, just for fun I thought I would put a bit up for you (it's un-edited - subject to change) but yeah.... here we go...
Of all the God damn moments he could have picked to phone me, why the fuck did it have to be this one?
They had found another body. This one was on the moors, and by the strain in Brendan’s voice... it had hit home for him. Poor bastard.
“Alright. I wont be long.” I hung up and shoved my mobile back in my jean pocket.
“Everything alright?” Clare asked.
“Not really,” I sighed. Alot wasn't right. “What time do you finish?”
Good. She only had half an hour or so before her ‘shift‘ ended. I needed to go but there was no way I was leaving her here on her own.
“Will you get a taxi home?”
“No need. I only live ten minutes away.”
“Clare.” I turned to face her. Damn she was beautiful - mental note: beat the shit out of Brendan. “There are rogues wandering around.”
Her eyebrows collided at the top of her nose. “Since when?”
“The last week or so. We don’t know how many. So, will you please get a taxi home?”
Don’t argue. Please don’t argue.
Rogue Werewolves were bad news. They were usually trouble makers or cannibals… most of the damn time they were both. Weak bastards who were unable to control the wolf. So instead they just let him run free…
Clare stood quietly, hugging herself. I could hear the steady, low thumping of music echoing outside the room... reality had snapped back into place quickly and the silence between us was real awkward. Deafening.
I had fucked up, but she was so stubbornly beautiful, refusing to back down every time I pressed her for an answer. She was right, naturally. Her life was none of my business.... But whether she knew it or not, it now was.
“Say something,” I said softly. Unable to take the silence any longer.
“What?” I felt my brow crease as I studied her.
“It’s in my line of view. I-”
I laughed. And people accuse me of not being serious when the occasion calls for it…
“What, do you want me to say?” she asked.
My shoulder’s felt heavy. My chest tight. What the fuck was wrong with me?
“Tell me it was okay. That you wanted that to happen.”
“Nothing really happened. We kissed.”
Something would have happened... if Brendan hadn‘t fucking called. Mental note: beat the shit out of Brendan &… break his arm. It would heal within a week or two... depending on how many bones I broke...
She-Wolf by Elizabeth Morgan is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.