The dark has come, riding the chill, rain-spattered winds of November, leaving wet leaves clinging to the soles of our shoes, and spawning intense cravings for hot chocolate and home-made soup. What better time to huddle in front of the warm glow of the monitor and let the flow of words take you into another world. A sunnier one, perhaps, somewhere far south of here. Or, in my case, somewhere even darker, and much, much scarier. I’ve given myself a couple of November challenges, one of which is to write every day (or close thereto). This evening I braved the damp and the (okay actually relatively mild) breezes (which nonetheless kept trying to turn my umbrella inside out) to write at my favourite cafe. Here are a few random sentences from the last few days of editing that fit oddly well together, despite being from two different chapters:
The trees were moving. A deep, undulating ripple, travelling toward them at a speed normally reserved for supersonic aircraft.
At least two things were certain. The storm had come, there was no doubt about that. And Bryn was going to be more than a mite displeased when he informed her that he intended to keep his word.
