Feral Intensity

I’d planned for Sunday to be an all day long writing day, but as usual, my plans went awry.

HH brought in a strange puppy late Saturday, and the Chihuahulhu took an extreme, instant dislike to the skinny little stray. As a result, I spent a good portion of Saturday night and Sunday refereeing dog fights and kennel timeouts.

Stay 20 ft. away from Mom or I'll destroy you.

No one was injured, as neither seems to realize that you’re supposed to bite the other guy. It was just a lot of noise while trying to punch each other with their noses, or shouldering each other.

Did I say ‘a lot of noise’? It was the din of one thousand harpies, exploding each and every time I hit a good groove in writing.

Even better, the stray managed to get himself stuck under the house by squeezing into one of the AC vent-sized accesses to the crawlspace, and I had to fish him out while he screamed in panic. The entire time. Sigh.

There are spiders the size of my head under there, and the FSM knows what else. Ugh.

Our temporary guest wasn’t one of the pups my friend has adopted out from our local shelter, so I’m taking him to the vet today to see if they know who he belongs to, or if he’s micro-chipped so that we can find his owners.

If that fails, we’re putting signs up. If no one claims him, I’ll find him a home before the Chihuahulhu eats him.

We also had some guests drop in, which necessitated a quick run through the house dusting and such. That was less nerve-racking and time consuming than the dog fights.

Even so, I revised, added to, or wrote a total of eight chapters on Convicted Heart, bringing its total count up from 9,003 to 14,111 words. Not a bad day’s work!

I planned it to be a novella (20-40k in length), so it’s on track. It’s a contemporary romance with a mystery of sorts, involving a hunky cowboy Galahad, a heroine who trusts her gut instincts, and a flash flood.

Here’s a very short, not necessarily final yet, excerpt:

The old man was on the phone when he walked in, but hung up just as he reached the counter. “Hello, boy. Who’s the lady you dropped off at the café?”

“Gossiping this early?”

Harry grinned, displaying his prized dentures in all their pearly glory. “This case, it ain’t gonna be gossip, because you’re gonna tell me what’s what. Then I’ll know, and everyone else can do the gossiping.”

With a shake of his head and glance around the store to be certain they were alone, Reed complied to a certain point. Some of what had happened the night before wasn’t anyone’s business. As he finished, Harry banged his palm down on the wooden countertop with a crow of approval. “Hot damn, son, that there was pure heroic.”

“Anyone who came along would’ve helped her out.”

Harry guffawed, pointing a finger at his scrawny chest. “Maybe, but some of us would’ve needed rescuing too. She give you a kiss for savin’ her?”

Reed shook his head while studying the scratches adorning the countertop. “She ate my cooking without complaining. That was thanks enough.”

“Uh-huh. Load of hay coming in shortly and the grain’s already been delivered. Get to stackin’, son.” The older man’s gray eyes were twinkling. “You got a kiss.”

“Did not.”

“Did too. Got some roses blooming.” Harry cackled as Reed ducked his head and made for the door.