Nearly non-existent word count today (340), but it’s Monday so that’s to be expected.
Progress on the fantasy novel involving a magical probation officer, an irritated dragon, a mouse packing a powerful punch, and a sewing circle:
Snippet:
Next to Matt stood a man in his forties with Chinese features wearing a suit. With cowboy boots. Angela didn’t recognize him.
There was a pause, but by the time Angela realized that Matt had expected her to go over to him and also made the decision that he could shove his expectations where the sun didn’t shine, Matt frowned a bit and led the other man toward her. “Mr. Lee, this is Angie Jones.”
Angela slanted Matt a nasty look, stood up and offered her hand. “Angela. Three syllables. Like angel with an extra ‘a’.”
The stranger’s lips twitched as he shook her hand. “Benson. Two syllables. Like the cigarettes.” His accent was pure Texas panhandle, so apparently the boots weren’t a random fashion choice.
Bonus quote of the day from one of my critique partners, in response to my griping that in the book I was reading two horses had already died and I had been more attached to them than the main characters:
“I mean, at the very least, it could be a great lesson in how to write strong, sympathetic horses.”
(I know some hilarious people. This is proof.)
