Saturday, November 5, 2011


Current listen:  "You Are" by Jason Castro

This is why I banked word count earlier in the week. Tonight, I went to an outdoor concert at the breathtaking Tuachan outdoor amphitheater. It poured, yet the band played for the full two hours. I sat on a blanket, had one over my legs, wore my wool coat on over two sweaters, a beanie on my head, Harley Davidson ear muffs, and a scarf wrapped around my nose and neck. I resembled a drowned cat by the time we got to the car. The group we went with then suggested Dairy Queen for sundaes. It's 42 degrees and they wanted ice cream. Of course we went. Hot fudge counts as something warm, right?

Consequently, with a busy day at work and no lunch hour, I only managed an extra 1,581 words. I'm up to 9,429 total.

Chapter 3 today. Grace's mother comes to life in this chapter and as I wrote her frustration and the guilt she shoulders for not being there to protect her daughter the night of the murder, I thought about all the things I did and would do, to keep my kids safe. I don't think our children truly understand the depth of our love for them until they have children of their own. They don't appreciate the sacrifices made on their behalf or realize that giving up our own life to save theirs isn't something said in a heated moment. It is a code parents live by, with the exception of the years from thirteen to eighteen. No guarantees there. 

The pieces of the murder are coming together nicely. I want to build the suspense slowly by sprinkling bits and pieces of that night into the present lie my heroine is forced to live. Tonight, her mother laments over not being able to use Grace's real name anymore, even in their private life.  The name meant something special, having passed on for several generations, but useless now. Here's her mother's explanation why Grace's name is so important.

"Your name is Grace. Grace Emilia Harrison, after your two grandmothers. We were so excited when you were born a girl, so we could safeguard their names and pass them on through you. Both names have been passed down to the firstborn daughters for seven generations and now--" a sob stole her breath, "--and now they're dead. Just like you're supposed to be. 'Grace Emilia Harrison' can never exist again, and it breaks my heart."

Heading for bed. Tomorrow is my "write in" day where that's all I'm dedicating myself to. Well, that and a cup of coffee. Probably chocolate, too. Later "gators."

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