After being radio silent in November, here’s an update on how I did with my writing challenge. I set out to write 50,000 words of My Place, or Yours? and I’m rather pleased to say that I managed to get the first draft finished at 72000 words, with five days to spare.
That draft is now with my editor, and as ever, I’m nervously awaiting her verdict. Will she think it’s worth taking further?
I had no clear idea where it was going at the start of the month. It turned into a dual-location, dual-POV thriller that had more than its fair share of twists and turns.
The ending’s not a cliffhanger, yet it screams sequel.
You can read the start of Chapter One below.
I stood outside the coffee shop, waiting for Becc. The bags were heavy in my hands.
“I’m just going to the bathroom,” she had said, as we finished our drinks. “You pay, I’ll see you outside.”
It was a dark November evening; the streets were busy with people wanting to get home. I peered in through the window, our table had already been filled by one of the queue that snaked back almost to the door.
“Ready?” said Becc. “Let’s get back to the car, it’s freezing.”
I turned; she had come out while I wasn’t looking at the door. Her hood was pulled up. She was scarved and gloved against the chill. All I could see was the breath coming out as she spoke.
I followed her to the car, watching the shopping bags she carried in each hand swinging as she strode, purposefully, the pedestrians giving way to her.
Her progress reminded me of an icebreaker, clearing a path through the solid press of humanity, with me following in her wake.
We got to the car, “I’ll drive,” she said, pressing the button on her keys that unlocked the doors. We loaded up and left the car park, setting off for home through the evening rush. She was silent, concentrating on the nose-to-tail traffic.
“You alright?” I asked. She was quieter than usual.
“Sure, just concentrating,” she said, keeping her gaze on the car in front, its brake lights splitting into patterns on the windscreen as it started to rain. The wipers throbbed as they cleared the sudden downpour. We jolted as the queue stopped and started. “Miserable, isn’t it?” she added. “I’m looking forward to two quiet weeks.”
So was I. Even better was the fact that we had both managed to get the same two weeks off. Even though it was November, while I was hoping for some better weather, it didn’t really matter. We had trips planned to see relatives, plus a bit of decorating.
It was boring, mundane stuff, but better than hauling myself into the office every day. At least we’d have some time together. With both of us working long hours, weekends were about the only time we shared.
We turned into our drive and parked. I went round and lifted the bags from the car as Becc opened the front door. I locked the car with my keys, dragged all the bags inside and dumped them in the kitchen.
“Thanks,” she said. She pulled off her gloves and took off her coat. Blonde hair spilt down her back.
That was where the nightmare started. Becc had short, jet-black hair. Or at least, she had done when she had got up and gone to the bathroom, less than an hour ago. As she spun around and faced me, I saw a sharp, angular face. She fixed her gaze on me, and a huge smile broke out.
She was pretty. But it was a stranger’s face.
“Who the hell are you?” was all I could say.
December’s plan is for a shake-up of my website and a new focus on Andorra Pett. I’m changing my approach to marketing after discussions with someone who knows a lot more about these things than I do.
There will be a lot more about this as I get to grips with it myself.
If you want to know more about anything to do with my writing, just drop me a comment. Until next time,
Happy reading.
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