2,525 words added to the WIP (so far anyhow — it’s still early enough that I could add a bit more). Today’s shenanigans with our magical probation officer included line dancing and a crank call to find a shifted cockroach in a mall food court.

Snippet:

Benson waited until they were turning into the strip mall before he spoke again. “Where to now?”
“Line dancing.” She pulled into a space in front of “The Watering Hole” and cut the engine.
“Line dancing,” he repeated.
“I find it helps my clients with stability if I can observe them while they’re doing something else, plus there are the social benefits of seeing other people they don’t have to hide their nature in front of, and it’s good exercise to boot.” She dangled her keychain in the space between them. “But if you have something against the Tush Push I’ll give you my keys and you can go watch Matt and Caleb handle the dragon.” He’d take them. He had to take them. Nobody would give up a chance to see a dragon instead of line dancing at a fake Western bar in an aging strip mall.
Instead he opened his door. “I can’t say I’ve ever Tush Pushed before, but I can’t wait to see how it goes.”
Gritting her teeth Angela got out and led him into the bar.

Added another 1,739 words to the work in progress. What should have been a simple process for my magical probation officer turned into a near-disaster. And of course there was a witness.

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.)

1,924 words added today to the WIP — vile co-workers were vile, friends did good things, and the dragon across town remained a dragon.

Tomorrow will involve a cockroach. How’s that for exciting?

Writing accomplishments: Added an additional 1750 words to the novel that had darn well better have a title other than “Dude, Where’s My Dragon?” soon.

• Number of shifts: 2
• Number of dragons on the other side of town: 1
• Number of potholders knitted: 1

Snippet:

Angela picked up the latest in the series of potholders she was making. This group met because they all had common interests, and she joined in because it kept it social, but Angela was an indifferent knitter at best, and when she was trying to knit and talk or monitor other things at the same time she dropped stitches left and right. She found it easier just to stick with a simple knit stitch over and over, forming an unchanging rectangle until it was big enough to cast off and then she started another one. The deepest drawer in her kitchen was stuffed full of them. When the group got too boisterous she would threaten to bring all the squares in and bind them together to create the world’s ugliest blanket.

Added an additional 1768 words on the novel starring our middle-aged magical emergency/probation officer who is currently trying to get a mouse shifted back into her proper form instead of dealing with the dragon destroying downtown.

The adventures of a somewhat pudgy older magical probation officer continue, with progress continuing on the novel not called “Dude, Where’s My Dragon?”.

Snippet:

For a moment she thought the room was deserted — and wouldn’t that be a thing to write home about, trying to find a tiny mouse in a ten story building while the guys with less seniority, fewer qualifications, and just generally less sense were out dealing with a fire-breathing dragon the size of a house — but finally a quiet voice answered.

Writing accomplishment: Got back on track word-count-wise for the novel definitely not called “Dude, Where’s My Dragon?”.

A snippet:

The drive to the Biltmore gave her a chance to feel sorry for herself for a good fifteen minutes and then she decided it was time to get over it. Sure, a fire-breathing dragon the size of a small house was cool, but a shape shifted mouse was… Nope, she still needed a few more minutes to get over it.