Here we are at the end of Week 1! How's everyone doing in NaNoLand? (And Movember Land, I know you're out there somewhere!) So far, I've been moderately pleased with my progress. In terms of word count, I've stayed just above the bar to stay on track, but literally by a dozen or so words. I was hoping to build up more of a bank, but in between various ailments, kids being off school and doctors' appointments, it hasn't happened yet. I'll see how next week goes.In terms of story, so far it's been fairly linear. I'm planning to shake that up, though, with looks at other events for characters apart from my MC, and snippets of the past. I'm also looking forward to testing my MC's mettle in a big way. This is the second time I've written from a female POV, and I'm surprised by how easy it's been, although that could be due to the fact my protag is fairly "normal" as opposed to a psychopath. It remains to be seen what my CPs (all women) will make of it, though!
Here's a reminder of my blurb, and a little excerpt. I chose it because it doesn't give anything away that isn't in the blurb.
- Novel: Truth Hurts (Working Title)
- Genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense
- Current Word Count: 13,374
- Synopsis:
Sandra thought her world had fallen apart when her mum died, but she wasn't prepared for what was to follow. An overheard conversation at the funeral reveals that the woman who had nurtured and raised her - while her father was largely absent - was not her real mother.
Confronting her booze-sodden father that night, he says that in not telling her, they had been protecting her. Sandra demands to know if her birth mother is still alive and, upon receiving no answer, storms out of the house on a quest to unearth the truth.
Her trail of discovery starts to lead her down some very dubious and dangerous roads, and she starts to think that maybe her father was right. But why has he not come after her?
Excerpt:
There
was nothing she wanted more than to run up to her room, slam the door and bawl
her eyes out, but she had to see this through for her mother’s sake. She was the one, in charge, after all, for
better or worse. As she made her way through the black-clad army of her father’s
extended family, everyone felt like a potential enemy, even though there were
some she barely knew. Apologetic smiles met her, but looked like they had been
plastered onto faces. It was only five metres from the door to the coffee
table, but it felt like a mile.
She
straightened up, relieved at setting down her load - her physical load, at any rate. Subdued thanks emanated from those
seated on the couches, who gave her the barest glance before helping themselves
to more tea.
How
long until everyone would start heading home? She glanced at her watch. Another
couple of hours at least. This was suffocating, and she wanted these people out
of the house. The grief was building up like a dam about to burst. She could be
forgiven for taking five minutes to compose herself, couldn’t she? Fresh air
would hopefully help. On the way to the French doors, she caught sight of her
father, who had already had one too many, the glass of whisky in his hand
waving through the air. She couldn’t make out his slurred speech, but he
appeared to be laughing, sharing a
joke with one of his brothers, relaxed and enjoying himself. Well, she couldn’t
say she was too surprised.
The
French doors were already open, as there were yet more mourners already out
here - the smoking variety. A couple reflecting on the day’s events in between
life-shortening puffs of nicotine - her Aunt Betsy and Uncle Stuart. They
didn’t seem to register her presence as she stepped outside and sank into one
of the ironcast chairs.
“Don’t
know how she’s going to cope,” said Aunt Betsy. “We all know Michael is next to
useless, and as a young girl, it shouldn’t be up to her to look after him.”
“Leanne
did a good job of that, didn’t she? The woman was a saint, in my book.” Stuart
took another deep drag of his cigarette and blew out a thin stream of smoke. “A
lesser woman would have bolted long ago.”
“Yes,
and raising a child that wasn’t even her own. You’ve got to give her credit,
she loved that girl with her whole heart.”
Sandra
had been staring down at the brickwork of the patio, but now everything swam
out of focus. It felt as if someone had plunged her head under water and was
holding it there. All sound disappeared but the roaring in her ears, and when
she tried to look up, her aunt’s and uncle’s movements were slowed down, their
arms making jerky movements as they raised their cigarettes, as if they were
puppets. The world tilted on its axis.
WHHHHHHHAAAAAAATTTTT??? Not a word, but
an earthquake going off in her head. She got up somehow, and took a couple of
steps forward. To do what? Confront her father? Two steps were all she managed
before everything went black.
And what of Movember? Well, here is the latest photo update (as of last night, anyway). Apparently I don't know where to look when someone's taking a picture on the iPad!
P.S. I know I said I wouldn't post anything except NaNoWriMovember during November, but make sure to check back on Monday for something big you won't want to miss!
