Owing to WorldCon fallout and family obligations, I managed only 4.3K words on Wet Work, bringing Magic Meter to here:
I’m done folding in the short story, and the first act is now behind me. This means two things: 1) no more artificially inflated word counts; and 2) now I fling myself into the Great Unknown–aka the second act, the Muddle in the Middle, and by various other terms that decorum prevents me from listing here.
The story’s in there somewhere. I think. I hope.
One week away from WotF. Oddly, I’m nowhere near as stressed about it as I was about WorldCon. I dunno; maybe it’s because all I really need to do is show up. I’m eligible for the Grand Prize, and that’s got to be worth a skipped heartbeat or two, but the fact is that it’s entirely out of my hands at this point. "Gone Black" has already exceeded my expectations; anything else would be gravy. Very awesome gravy, mind you, but gravy nonetheless.
I mean really awesome gravy.
But still.
Your snippet:
"Em?" Brandon’s voice quavered. "What the fuck was that?"
"Run for it!" Kaitlin shot past Emily, headed for the car.
Emily grabbed her arm and yanked hard. "No! We can’t! Stay where you are!" She kicked the bat toward Brandon. "Pick that up. Try not to hit anything but the wolf, all right?"
Kaitlin strained against Emily’s grip. "Why shouldn’t we run? It’s gone! Let’s–"
"He’s showed himself to us," Emily said. "No way he can let us go now. He has to kill us."
No updates for Write Club.
Outta here . . .
