I fell a bit below my writing goal for January; managed 9,500 words, not the 10,000 words I had hoped to get.
But I was feeling sluggish, coming out of the end-of-year holidays, and I spent two days in Canada for the Best of Every Day Fiction 2008 book launch, so I am still pleased.
Better still, I finished three short stories: Canticles, a 1000-word crime flash; Little Guys, an 800-word fantasy flash, and For Whom the Pale Moon Gleams, a 3,000-word speculative fiction short.
All three are new markets for me, so we will see.
January’s other 4,800 words went into One Last Kiss. It will probably finish out around 6,000 words and it’s difficult to classify, what with its death-bed promises, voodoo and Elvis.
Here’s a little sneak:
“Your Mama’s been talking to Elvis,” Jerry said.
They were headed east, rolling across the I-185 causeway to Miami Beach. Jerry handled the big Mercedes with the same casual ease with which he maneuvered Gracie through the Delta terminal.
“That’s not new. She’s been talking to him for years.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But now he’s stopping in to chat. She said he was by this morning. ”
Gracie smiled. That was her mother, all right. Maureen had always been Elvis Presley’s biggest fan, even before those two words became cliché, and over the years she had nudged Gracie around to it, as well. One of Gracie’s most treasured memories was attending Elvis’ Mobile concert on her eighteenth birthday. That was the June before the King died.
“I wish I could have been there to meet him,” Gracie said. Jerry grinned. The lines around his eyes and mouth suggested that he did it often.
“Me, too,” he said. “She said I just missed him; told me that rigmarole about him promising you a kiss.”