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#Milwordy update: 28,213
So, the bottom line is that I’m not going to sleep without writing *something* every day towards my goal.
Even on days like today when my asthma has kicked up and all I want to do is crawl into bed and stay there. It’s draining on days like this. It’s not even that I can’t get in a full breath. It’s more like, I feel as though I’m breathing okay, but I’m not actually taking in enough air. On a good day, my breathing is compromised. On a bad day, I’m exhausted just pushing through the day with my legal drug caffeine and my inhaler. And it’s not like a heaviness on my chest, but just a general miliase. And my brain stops functioning properly. My brain to mouth filter takes a denial of service hit and my fingers don’t like to actually hold things.
At my day job, there is a light bulb that is blown out just in front of one of our suite doors. It has been blown out for over a week now. I refuse to submit a ticket. I’m waiting to see how long it takes before someone else does it. Seriously. I cannot be the only person in my suite who has figured out how to submit a work ticket. I refuse to believe it. Even though I’m usually the one who ends up doing it because I get annoyed that something isn’t working properly or that the bulbs in the pantry area are burnt out. This is me, waiting, like an annoyed spouse for someone else to notice and get annoyed and put in a ticket. Even if they have to call me to figure out how to submit it.
That was the least annoying part of the day, honestly, but it was annoying.
Also, steel measuring tapes should be considered weapons. I was carrying one from one side of the building to the other, and that thing must way at least a pound, if not more. I’m pretty sure if I chucked it at someone it’d do some serious damage. And that’s not even counting the burr on the edge of the tape where it was nicked by a razor blade once. And I have been cut by a steel measuring tape before. If you thought cardboard cuts were bad, they’ve got nothing on the slice you get from a measuring tape speeding back to its spring-coiled home and taking it out on you that you had the nerve to pull it out. Angry little steel snails do not like to be out of their shells it seems.
And that is the day in the life today. Not cheerful, but could be worse. I have untapped levels of morbid fascinations and justice-fueled rage in my belly that I haven’t really explored in depth.
The Promises Universe looks something like this right now. (Subject to change with no notice) Anyway, I don’t outline, I write jacket covers:
Book 1: Cassandra : Through a Different Lens : Photographer Cassandra Wyeth-Jones’ best friend was her great-aunt Romey. When Romey dies it’s not a huge shock. At least not until the will is read. That’s when Cassandra learns that she’s inherited both a tremendous fortune, and a tremendous responsibility. She knows now that she’s forgotten something from when she was a teenager. She’s forgotten why Romey stopped traveling. But there’s a journal. A stack of IOUs. And a husband and friends who are willing to help her figure it out. She’s forgotten what promises mean. But she’ll learn. Or she’ll die trying.
Book 2: Bryce : Learning the Trick of It : Bryce Williamson is the white sheep of his family of wolves. He doesn’t have the killer ambition that’s led his siblings to achieve great things. In fact, he’s got enough trouble maintaining enough in his bank account to pay for his therapist, anti-anxiety meds, and feed himself and his artist. His mother’s approach to tough love means that he’s got a month to find himself a new place to live. But that the easy part. The hard part is balancing his no-we’re-not-married-artist’s gallery opening, his pregnant sister the lawyer’s fetch and carry quest, and his social network. He’s not an artist himself, no matter what Old Mr. Peretsky says. He’s just good at finding people and connecting them. He didn’t need to know that magic was real. Or that he could perform it. It’s not like he can tell anyone about that. No, he’ll be better off with the magic of quid pro quo and smiling friends. At least until one of the local mafia bosses decides that Bryce’s sister is horning in on his territory. Then, he’s going to need all the magic he can muster to get them all out of this intact.
Book 3: Troy : Things Lost and Found : Troy Wyeth met the love of his life when he was fifteen. The second half of his soul. His perfect partner. Truman. And he lost him just as quickly the next year. He never knew what happened to him. But now, with a quest to find all of the items his great-aunt wanted to distribute to her friends and family, he’s heading back to the land that he never forgot. He has a new lover by his side. Traveling the world has brought him closer to the person he lost and the memory he’s been gripping onto with both hands. He’s got more than a chance to travel the world, he’s got the chance to travel into his own memories. Will the partner he’s found in Trish be able to remind him that he’s got to live in the present not the past?
Book 4: Sulwen : Changeling Sunrise : Sulwen Smith was an orphan. She named herself when she turned sixteen and was spat out of the foster system at 18 with no idea where she’d been born, who her parents were, or why she can’t remember anything that happened before she turned twelve. She went to the police academy and spent a few years learning why she didn’t fit in there. But when she left, she grabbed onto a private investigator’s license and built a life around it. She’s been hired by the Wyeth-Joneses to hunt down the people Aunt Romey left things to in whatever country their currently hiding it. It’s a good gig. But there’s something that’s bothering her. Something like a watercolor memory in her dreams that she can hear more than she can see. And she’s not sure if it’s something jolting loose from the travel Romey’s legacy has caused or the man she’s been tracking down. The man who is the right age to be her father. The man who owed Romey his first born according to the piece of paper he’s been left.
Book 5 : Trish : Untitled :
BitterSuites 