I start off with a plan. “I will practice drawing people today. Because I still can’t draw people. I will not draw horses. Because horses are easy to draw. Seriously, no horses!”
Five minutes later, and I’ve got this. Four quick horse sketches. Because I can’t stop myself. I’ve been drawing horses since I could hold a pencil. People are hard to draw, with their weird round heads and walking on two legs.
Anyway, I’m making this a sketchbook dump Friday and excerpt Friday. Technically, the sequel to The Music of Chaos is about 90-percent done. First draft, anyway. I got stuck on a scene at the end, and then wandered off to two other projects. The problem is, I got two author voices–Hello, Sybil!–the snarky, first person, Mary Sue-ish voice of The Music of Chaos and the third person voice that I use elsewhere. The second voice has been in control lately.
In this bit of dialogue from Chapter One, Hallowbone Holiday (working title), Regan O’Connell leaves work, the day job, early….
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“That’s it,” I said, switching off my computer. I scooped up my briefcase and headed for the door, changed my mind and turned around and headed for the admin offices.
Eva Osborne had recently scored a promotion, and was now the head of the human resources department. Her promotion earned her a tiny office, not much bigger than a typical cubicle, but with real walls and a door. Taking the partially open door as an invitation, I marched boldly through the doorway.
“Hey, I–” My greeting strangled in my throat as I nearly collided with a very large man.
“Regan,” said the man, a sneer on his face.
“Erm, Kyle. How the heck are you doing?” I asked. Eva, who sat behind her paper-strewn desk, beamed at me and then at her lover.
“Good,” said Kyle, his gaze moving immediately to my chest and just as quickly moving away, poorly veiled disdain on his face.
Kyle Peterson was the classic all-American guy. Square-jawed, with a powerful physique that someone less generous might call steroid-enhanced, he was probably most women’s idea of sexy. I found him rather simian. Most humans, with their total absence of magical ability, held no attraction to me.
“Regan, honey. Are you going home? You just got here,” asked Eva.
“I’ve been here. . .” I looked at my watch, “three hours. Plenty of time to download an eternity in hell’s worth of pornography.”
“Regan,” she chided. The first time Eva laid eyes on me she decided I was a waif in need of mothering. Normally, I’d resent that sort of attitude, but Eva softens her maternal instincts with baked goods and I’m a cookie whore.
“Monica and Barry still haven’t lost that lovin’ feeling. My lunch, on the other hand, is fixing to see daylight if I don’t get out of here.”
Eva leaned forward, a prurient glint in her eyes. “Really? Are they in there now?”
“Er, yeah, but I’d rather not talk about it or think about it.”
“Oh, okay,” she said with a gentle smile. I’m sure my prudish attitude to sex only enhances her need to mother. What she mistakes as youthful shyness is actually the remains of a Victorian upbringing.
“I gotta hit the head,” Kyle said.
“Okay, sweetie,” Eva oozed, her sweetness wasted, since Kyle was already out the door.
The divorced mother of two teenagers more demonic than actual demons, Eva was still a rather attractive woman of about forty. By no means a small woman, she was shaped like Barbie. That is, if Barbie ate three square meals a day with generous snacks in between.
Five years Eva’s junior, Kyle was married and the father of a three-year old daughter, though Eva didn’t know this. There was a hell of a lot Eva didn’t know, including the true nature of his employment.
As far as I knew, Kyle had found Eva’s desire for something more than casual sex irritating and had dumped her about a month before.
His sudden reappearance in Eva’s life was worrisome–“shivers up and down my spine like someone is doing the tango on my grave” worrisome.
“Regan? What’s wrong?” Eva’s voice dragged me from my thoughts.
Realizing I was staring warily in the direction Kyle had gone, I forced a cheerful smile. “You and Kyle are back together?” I asked, hoping the answer was “No.”
Her supernova-bright smile almost made me feel bad about begrudging her any happiness. Almost. Kyle was an asshat and I didn’t for one moment think any good could come of their relationship.
“Yes,” she said with a girlish titter. “Kyle and I are going to the movies tonight. Maybe you and Jason–?”
“Er. . .no, Jason and I are having a cooling off period.” Think Ice Age.
**Copyright 2012 Patricia (P.) Kirby, All rights reserved****
