Oh, don't tell me I'm first again? Where's everyone? I guess not on summer break like me, eh? Anyway, I wrote a tiny bit more of Chapter 7 - about a page or so - inserted some well-established Trek aliens instead of the never-to-be-seen-again extras from the Enterprise pilot and am quite pleased with the results.
Excerpt: Sandra feels the familiar rage pooling in her belly. It may have been Suzie who was abused by that bastard of a father, but the memory of it is still as vivid and painful as if it had happened to her. She can’t just sit here and watch another kind being tormented by its parent; not even if the kid looks like a catfish.
Very tired this evening, but I managed 350 words earlier. Christophe is about to get a lift back in Linda's car:
"I don't think I've thanked you properly," Edward began before Christophe cut in.
"Save it for next time. The kind of thanks I'd like isn't suitable for the present company." He finished his pint, and placed the empty glass on the bar. "Better not keep the lady waiting – I hear she had a tough hand for lawbreakers in her day."
"You're ready?" A faint smile played across Linda's lips.
"Just about." Christophe clapped Edward on the shoulder. "I'll try and call in on my way back up from London, but if I don't, you probably won't see me for a month or so."
Nearly 500 words, some research and a little editing. Some of the new words ~
***
John set the bag of cat litter on the floor and his other bags on the kitchen table. “Managed re-provisioning without being spirited away in any black cars,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. “Wouldn’t have minded a lift, actually.”
“Have you contacted Mike?” Sherlock asked from the desk.
“Stopped by,” John said, taking a corked bottle from one of the bags and heading for the sitting room. “He hasn’t, although he has an appointment for after their holiday.” He placed the bottle near Sherlock’s elbow. “The kittens recognised me.”
“Early imprinting, very important,” Sherlock murmured.
“They’re so young, I thought they’d forget,” John continued. “You should see how happy Freud and Apgar are with the girls.”
“Hmm,” Sherlock said, opening a new tab and typing.
“Anna, not Sigmund, I was carefully informed,” John said. “At ten, I would probably have named a cat, Blackheath.”
“Your mother wasn’t a psychiatrist,” Sherlock said, scrolling down a list of search results.
“How do you know?” John teased.
“Once I had your birth certificate...” Sherlock began.
I'm very happy to hear the other kittens are doing well! And I love the choice of names too. I see living with Sherlock is no less a trial than it's ever been, you might as well add cats ;)
About 190 more words of plot-hole filler dialogue (well, My Heroes don't have much to do but talk...)
Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Given that we really have nothing better to do..."
"Except to die," Radek felt duty bound to point out.
"Which I wouldn't necessarily define as better. And yes," he sighed, "I'm aware of the intergalactic elephant in the room when I say that, and yes, I speak from experience."
Of dying.
Radek heard the words almost as if spoken aloud. It was a given back at Stargate Command, as he'd been told by colleagues who'd worked there: Those Who Died Did Not Have To Speak About It Outside The Post-Death Debrief. So far, they had been... fortunate? Ill-fated? - he wasn't sure which it was, but so far, no one had died on a temporary basis on Atlantis, but always all too permanently.
After 3 days on zero, managed to force myself to do some editing on the new scene and gain ~100 words, but didn't move on at all. Today hoping to move on a little.
A Matter of Time
Anyway, I wrote a tiny bit more of Chapter 7 - about a page or so - inserted some well-established Trek aliens instead of the never-to-be-seen-again extras from the Enterprise pilot and am quite pleased with the results.
Excerpt:
Sandra feels the familiar rage pooling in her belly. It may have been Suzie who was abused by that bastard of a father, but the memory of it is still as vivid and painful as if it had happened to her. She can’t just sit here and watch another kind being tormented by its parent; not even if the kid looks like a catfish.
RE: A Matter of Time
RE: A Matter of Time
RE: A Matter of Time
RE: A Matter of Time
RE: A Matter of Time
RE: A Matter of Time
Re: A Matter of Time
RE: Re: A Matter of Time
RE: A Matter of Time
RE: A Matter of Time
no subject
"I don't think I've thanked you properly," Edward began before Christophe cut in.
"Save it for next time. The kind of thanks I'd like isn't suitable for the present company." He finished his pint, and placed the empty glass on the bar. "Better not keep the lady waiting – I hear she had a tough hand for lawbreakers in her day."
"You're ready?" A faint smile played across Linda's lips.
"Just about." Christophe clapped Edward on the shoulder. "I'll try and call in on my way back up from London, but if I don't, you probably won't see me for a month or so."
no subject
I gather that Edward and Christophe don't usually spend long stretches of time together, but I wonder whether Edward is sad about this news.
(no subject)
no subject
Perhaps Christophe is telling Edward more about his schedule than he usually does?
(no subject)
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
***
John set the bag of cat litter on the floor and his other bags on the kitchen table. “Managed re-provisioning without being spirited away in any black cars,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. “Wouldn’t have minded a lift, actually.”
“Have you contacted Mike?” Sherlock asked from the desk.
“Stopped by,” John said, taking a corked bottle from one of the bags and heading for the sitting room. “He hasn’t, although he has an appointment for after their holiday.” He placed the bottle near Sherlock’s elbow. “The kittens recognised me.”
“Early imprinting, very important,” Sherlock murmured.
“They’re so young, I thought they’d forget,” John continued. “You should see how happy Freud and Apgar are with the girls.”
“Hmm,” Sherlock said, opening a new tab and typing.
“Anna, not Sigmund, I was carefully informed,” John said. “At ten, I would probably have named a cat, Blackheath.”
“Your mother wasn’t a psychiatrist,” Sherlock said, scrolling down a list of search results.
“How do you know?” John teased.
“Once I had your birth certificate...” Sherlock began.
John expelled a long breath. “Fine.”
no subject
(no subject)
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
(no subject)
no subject
(no subject)
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
no subject
That's a pretty monumental topic they have to talk about.
(no subject)
no subject
And an intriguing conversation.
(no subject)
no subject
(no subject)
no subject
(no subject)
no subject
(no subject)
no subject
no subject
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)