Say it ain’t so. Please.
Where did the summer go? I check my paltry word count. Did I say I was going to do a self-imposed NaNoWriMo in July? Ha! That busted in epic style. Then I think I vowed to do the same in August.
Sigh. I was just discussing this past summer with my husband. It’s been an unusually busy one this year for us, from two weddings within a month of each other–one in Dallas, TX–to graduation to the prep for my dad’s auction (and the auction) to moving our youngest to college. And we didn’t even host Easter this year, so we didn’t have that activity to contend with.
I look up from my laptop. My writing office is empty. The wall-sized white board is covered with a list of writing projects, a timeline for Book 2, and …
I cross the office to get a better look. It’s a calendar. Actually, it’s the next six months, starting today. March 2019 is circled.
I didn’t write it.
“Two thousand words a day, love. That’s what you said.”
I can feel him behind me, a well-built, hot-looking guy invading my personal space. My Muse. He’s close enough that I can smell coconut and that indescribable scent of a vast body of water.
A glance back over my shoulder, and he moves in to stand against my back. At six-foot two, he towers over me, but seldom uses that to his advantage.
Today he’s using it.
“Um, you’re a little close there, buddy.” Not that I’m complaining. Nope. Not me. I’m a little young for hot flashes, but I’m pretty sure that rise in body temperature is due to a hot flash. Yep, has to be a hot flash.
He drops his hands onto my shoulders and squeezes. “I’ve been giving you a bit of space, because you promised to write a thousand words a day.” He lowers his head until I feel his breath against my ear. “Just how many words did you write yesterday, love? And the day before? Hmm?”
Gulp. “I’ve got over thirteen thousand in on my, er, third first draft.”
“You should have thirty-six thousand by now according to your NaNo spreadsheet. I didn’t think I would have to baby-sit you after you started writing every day, a thousand words a day. I see I was wrong.”
My breath shudders. “You do realize I’ve been busier than usual this summer, right? It’s not like I’m goofing off. Besides, the kids are both at school, now. Well, except my daughter is home for the weekend since it’s a long weekend.”
“And how many words have you managed?”
“Hey, I’ve cleared a thousand words on a few days. I’ve been close to a thousand the other days.”
“The other days that you actually write.” He releases me and backs off, freeing me from his overbearing height.
I ignore the teeny bit of disappointment that follows the fading heat. “I thought I was doing okay.” I turn to find him pacing across my office. He reaches the opposite wall and heads back. His loose-cut tank top and cut-offs seem to highlight the copper tan of his skin, which in turn enhances the lean muscles of his shoulders and arms. Pale streaks highlight his blond hair that needs a cut. Except if he’s going for the beach bum look. Then it’s perfect.
It’s another hot flash. Yep, pretty sure. I resist fanning myself, and I’m glad when he stops before he reaches me. Until he hits me with those intense blue eyes of his.
Gulp. I sure hope he didn’t catch those thoughts…
“The fedora and bullwhip aren’t working anymore, love. I’m going to have to step it up.”
Er, I’m not sure I want to ask.
*Thud* A low rumble shudders through the office.
“I called for reinforcements.”
Now I know I don’t want to ask.
We have a 3-day weekend here in the US with Labor Day on Monday, so I’m planning to spend some serious writing time. Of course, Monday will probably be a bust since I’ll have to take my daughter back to school. Still trying to settle into an empty-nester routine. At some point, I’m going to take over my son’s room for an office (but, that’s time spent not writing, so dilemma).
Enjoy the last “official” weekend of summer!
Say it ain’t so. Please.