I’m way overdue for a WIPpet and ROW80 update, but I’ve been all kinds of busy. I won’t list out my lame reasons, but I promise I’m jumping back into the nightly writing sessions tonight! My current focus is to finish Peace, Love and Murder, and I’m sitting at just under 31,000 words. (NaNo hasn’t worked for me this time around, but that doesn’t mean I should sit back and use it as an excuse to slack off for the rest of the month!) So:
Goal for this week: By next Wednesday’s check-in, I
hope to will have hit 35,000 words. At least.
Here’s my WIPpet: a quick clip from page 88. This is my favorite scene in this book yet. (My loosey-goosey math rationalization: today is the 19th, and 9-1=8. 88.)
He looked at me blankly. I thought for a second he had been stunned by the revelation… until he abruptly threw his head back and laughed. “Nancy Drew,” he choked out. “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me? You’re fucking priceless, you know that?”
My face flushed hot and unfamiliar temper sparked again. I lifted both my hands and gave him a sharp shove. It was just unexpected enough to send him back a step, but at the first touch of my palms to his smooth chest, he had brought his own hands up to grip my wrists firmly and I was pulled after him. One hand shifted to slide around my waist, and the friction of callused palm against the bare skin of my back where my tee-shirt had rucked up was startling. Not as much as the feel of his fingers tangling in the fine baby hairs at the nape of my neck, though, as he gave a little yank. It didn’t hurt, but surprised an irritated gasp out of me. I looked up automatically, my mouth open to blast him, but he cut me off with a kiss. A hot, hungry merging of lips and tongue and teeth that was in no way gentle. It was a battle cry and it only took me a second of mental scrambling before I got the wits together to answer it with one of my own. I grabbed one of his flat brown nipples between my thumb and forefinger and twisted. Hard.
“What the hell, Kat,” Mason yelped, jumping away from me with one hand clapped over his chest.
“Did you just give him a purple nurple?” The amused teenaged voice from the doorway of the kitchen had me spinning around guiltily.
Oh, yeah. And the title of this post? Refers to the fact that I was outed today by the company I work for as being a trashy romance writer. Just kidding–it was more of feature than expose, but I’m still feeling a little awkward about the attention. And, FYI, not all of my books have sexytimes. Some are sweet enough for an 8 year-old to read. 🙂
If you’re interested in hopping aboard this ROW80 train, go here to find out more, or just set some measurable goals and hang out with all the other fine ROW80 folks. Or want to share a piece of your WIP? Link up here