My brain is fried and my eyelids are about to drop, but I want to check in and say, "Hi, ya'll!"
(I'm allowed to say ya'll even though I don't live in the south because I'm a country girl.)
So I'm stuck. I'm going to try and write through it today, but it's been a while since I've been at a plot stick. Usually they're character sticks.
And speaking of character sticks, here's a Q4U: HOW DO YOU KEEP SECONDARY CHARACTERS FROM BEING INSIPID FLIES ON THE WALL?!
I really, really struggle with this. Especially right now as I work on the May Scramble/Challenge.
But I'm loving the WIP still (at page 95), even though the writing is C.R.A.P.(tastic) first draft stuff. We'll see if I can finish it and make something of it.
(In case I haven't told you about it, here's the little pitch I use for it: Raised, groomed, and set apart, Jedda Hitler was her Fuhrer grandfather’s personal project to prove that even a small girl could be turned into a killing machine. Now at seventeen the grandfather she despised is dead and she’s left with a name and a life she never chose.)
Just for fun, or more because I'm too tired to know better, here are the first five sentences. Feel free to criticize/critique. My love of this book seems to be impervious right now:
Grandfather Hitler would have never allowed such a slipshod in his army. That would be one thing you could have said for him. And yet this is the jailer they give me, a former Commissioner of Police, with his sagging belly and eyes that dart from the door to me.
He wipes the sweat off his upper lip. He is afraid of me, this officer.
As well he should be.
Oh, wait. That was six. Oops.
...Did I mention that I'm tired?