I've often said the best way to get over "writer's block" is to write. I suppose that's what happened. I'd finished "The Stuff of Legend" and found myself fidgeting. I have another small project to finish by September, but as I was digging around in the discarded DNF's in the manuscripts file, I realised I could do something with one of them.
Right now I'm past ten thousand words. They might not be great words, but they're down. And eventually, there will be editing. I'm pleased to have an idea of the plot - and interested to find out what's happening with my new character as she tells her story. Who knew? Not me, that's for sure.
He's a short taste.
A big, expensive skimmer drifted down onto the apron outside the Celestial Palace hotel. Marisa had been in that limo more than once. The back door of the vehicle slid up. Her hand crept to the pistol in the bag hung over her right shoulder, her fingers sliding around the butt. A figure alighted from the vehicle. A bodyguard, all muscle and no neck. A second man followed. Her pulse pounded. Soldar. At last. You're going to die, bastard. She'd practiced the shot a hundred times, leaning against a wall, firing without taking the pistol out of her bag. Then she would walk away, just another houri on her way to work in Minka.
A red-coated security guard lumbered between her and Soldar, who was running up the shallow steps beside the bodyguard. Damn it, move your great, hulking carcass. But the woman was walking toward her, coming here.
Marisa backed away, rage boiling in her gut. Damn her. Damn her to all the hells in the black abyss. She'd have to wait, try another day, another way. The towering security guard began to run. Marisa turned, ready to kick off her high-heeled shoes. A hand gripped her arm, hard. She tried to twist away. "What in blazes do you think you're doing?"
Watch this space