My summer has been like … zing! A novella stood up and demanded to become a full-fledged novel. And my new Camp NaNo novel waved a white flag and asked to be my 2020 anthology novella.
Because of So This Is Love‘s about-face, I had to come up with something new. Thus Sir Walter Takes a Wife, at 23k words, was started and finished in 30 days. Talk about astonishing! More about how I did that at the bottom of this post.
Anyway, I am back with this week’s Weekend Writing Warriors snippet. It’s taken from As Only Mr. Darcy Can, my Pride & Prejudice romantic romp. Yes, the title has changed. Since it’s going to be a novel, it needs Darcy. That name sells books!
To recap … we’ve looked over his shoulder as Mr. Darcy has secretly sent witty Valentines to Elizabeth Bennet. His objective is to warn her about George Wickham, who is an officer in the local militia. We’ve seen Elizabeth’s perplexity. Now we get to hear from that weasely rotter himself, as the point-of-view shifts to Wickham. Predatory, is he? Oh yes.
“Hothouse roses, brought in from London.”
George Wickham shot his friend a look. Trust Denny to grumble about the expense!
“My good man,” said Wickham. “The point of Valentine’s Day is to be memorable. Bluebells and whatnot, plucked from the meadow, are said to be romantic. But any stable boy can gather wildflowers.”
“Roses are—extravagant,” stammered Chamberlayne.
“Indeed they are,” said Wickham. “But I shall prove to you that our money was not wasted.”
Actually, it was not his money. Denny and Chamberlayne and Pratt had paid for the roses, a detail Wickham was not about to disclose. It was only fair. Without his clear-headed forethought, there would be no flowers to present to the ladies on Valentine’s Day. A laborer was worthy of his hire.
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Twitter hashtag is #8sunday
It is not about writing, but focus. Making your time count.
When the vortex that is multi-tasking rears its ugly head — like every-other-minute, right? — this book reminds me that everything hinges on The One Thing I need to be doing. Namely, writing. Everything depends on this, everything. All my future goals.
Because writing is no longer a hobby, but my retirement plan!
This probably sounds like a one-idea book, but I promise you it isn’t. I bet your library has a copy (or three). Ours has ten. And they’re all checked out with a wait list.