This year’s #NaNoWriMo project is underway. It’s day 5 and I’m still on target to hit 70K. Yes, I know #NaNo is about hitting 50k in 30 days. I need to finish this project. It’s been speaking to me for months.
ILS is an abbreviation for the title. A title that I’m not sure is going to stick yet so I refuse to announce it. Once the book is finished, I’ll have a better idea if I’m in love with the title or if I plan to scrap it for something else.
Before I get started writing today, I wanted to share with you a little excerpt I wrote yesterday. As my story is beginning to unfold, I’m falling further and further in love with my characters. All of them, not just the main two. I think my favorite so far is a supporting character named Becky. Mom to Wyatt (the male lead), she’s reminds me of my own mom. She’ll call you out in front of your friends, not because she wants to embarrass you, but because she needs to get her point across.
“Enough about me,” Wyatt finally says, standing from the table. “Why don’t we get some food and show Chloe the spot we found the other day. If there’s time, we could catch the matinee at the theater.”
“Hell yes!” Jones hollers in delight.
“Watch your mouth, young man,” Wyatt’s mother says as she drops two baskets of fried goodies on the table.
Becky’s an amazing mom from what I can tell. She doesn’t take shit from either of her children, or apparently her nephew.
“Sorry Aunt Becky,” Jones quickly apologizes as he shoves fries in his mouth, causing his words to be muffled.
“Where are you three headed to this afternoon?” she inquires, taking the empty chair next to me and reaching for a fried pickle.
“The guys want to show me some place they found I guess.” Shrugging my shoulders, I reach for the basket of fries but Wyatt pulls it away, grinning in triumph, until his mom’s words catch him off guard.
“The kissing hole?” she asks, her question directed at Wyatt.
“They don’t really call it that, mom.”
“My ass they don’t. It’s been called that since I was a kid. Who do you think they named it after?”
“Ewe!” both guys say in unison while Becky and I laugh at the look of disgust on their faces.
“Keep it PG-13, boys. And Chloe, don’t let them talk you into any funny business. I know they’re cute but they’re not that cute.”
*the above excerpt is an unedited passage from a to-be-titled book and the intellectual property of the author, Rachael Brownell.