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Into the woods, again
Sixteen Miles progress:
Just got back from a nice hour-long hike in the woods close to our house with Lizzie, carrying Mr. Drew on my back in his backpack (nothing like an extra 25 lbs. to keep you chugging), and now that the youngster's napping, I had a little bit of time to write.
We even managed to turn off the TV for a bit so we could take a break from the Katrina coverage. And just saying that makes me feel silly -- we have a TV, a house, electricity, our pets, our family -- all of that and more than the people in Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama. Count those blessings, folks.
Anyhoo, just writing away here, trying to break the 100-page barrier on this novel, and really enjoying it. I had to share a fun snippet I put together this morning. That's all:
Ray rolled toward his dog, ignoring me as he put his face up to Bullitt's half-open muzzle. The dog's tongue lolled onto the black ground, touching a flat white rock as if he were trying to lick a treat.
I knew what was coming next. I didn't want to watch, but looking away would've meant meeting the accusing gaze of the thin man. So I got to watch Ray perform mouth-to-snout on his dog. Think of a bellows filled with water, squeezed into two holes the size of a pencil eraser.
It wasn't as disgusting as I'd feared it would be. Though it wasn't anything I'd like to experience again.
Ten rescue breaths later, Bullitt kicked himself into get and popped to his feet, sneezing. His long legs shook like saplings in a hurricane, but the dog was alive, again.
Have a good weekend, everyone. Be safe! Later.
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We even managed to turn off the TV for a bit so we could take a break from the Katrina coverage. And just saying that makes me feel silly -- we have a TV, a house, electricity, our pets, our family -- all of that and more than the people in Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama. Count those blessings, folks.
Anyhoo, just writing away here, trying to break the 100-page barrier on this novel, and really enjoying it. I had to share a fun snippet I put together this morning. That's all:
Ray rolled toward his dog, ignoring me as he put his face up to Bullitt's half-open muzzle. The dog's tongue lolled onto the black ground, touching a flat white rock as if he were trying to lick a treat.
I knew what was coming next. I didn't want to watch, but looking away would've meant meeting the accusing gaze of the thin man. So I got to watch Ray perform mouth-to-snout on his dog. Think of a bellows filled with water, squeezed into two holes the size of a pencil eraser.
It wasn't as disgusting as I'd feared it would be. Though it wasn't anything I'd like to experience again.
Ten rescue breaths later, Bullitt kicked himself into get and popped to his feet, sneezing. His long legs shook like saplings in a hurricane, but the dog was alive, again.
Have a good weekend, everyone. Be safe! Later.
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