I have joined the local (Calgary) NaNo group and hung out with some of them during a newcomer event, as well as a kickoff event. Next Saturday, the 31st, we’ll meet around 10pm for coffee and sugar, and start writing together comes midnight.
I’ve always found the notion of writing together a little weird—what with everyone sitting there together to be alone. But groups like this all over the (NaNo) world are doing this every year, so there must be something to it, no? I’m sure it’ll be fun.
We’ll be writing for about two hours until 1am—hang on, you say? Shouldn’t that be 2am? We’re turning the clocks back this weekend up here in the great wasteland of Canadia, so: fooled you!
So, have I prepared at all, you wonder? Indeed, I did. As I mentioned in my last post, I’ll most likely be picking up a piece of flash fiction to turn it into a novel. The Drop, it was called, which will probably be the title for the first part in the story. Of course, some things will change. Character names will change, as well as the details of their current mission (who their clients are).
The duffle bag on the table sits between us like the elephant in the room it really is.
He’s wearing a cheap suit. Hair’s slicked back, skin’s clean shaven. Mirror-shades–indoors. What kind of jerk wears sunglasses inside a dark motel room?
“You just gonna stare at it,” I say. “Go ahead, check it out.” I nod towards the bag and lean back in my chair.
His upper lip twitches for a second, but then he pulls the bag closer, sliding it over the old plastic table. I shift awkwardly, trying to keep it cool, but I’m sure my being nervous shows, still. Especially with the two armed thugs guarding the motel door.
How is it I keep ending up in a place like that?Read More »
Sarah’s face is that of an angel fallen from grace. Mad, drenched in fury, beautifully spiteful. But as hot as this whole renegade bride-turned-criminal thing is on her, the fact that she left me behind to die when the Lost Boys showed up makes me want to strangle her right here, right now.
I look her in the eyes, holding my pistol a little obvious next to my face to underline who’s in charge here, and say, “Get back in the fucking car.”
“I said, get in the car. Now.” She listens without another word, and we get back. The Knuckle is still sitting by himself in pain, and Nathan’s as nervous as always. “Drive,” I say. The gun still in everyone’s sight. This is my show now.
That’s not what Harris is expecting, of course. The only reason I’m still alive isRead More »
I jump over the bed like a stoned action hero that retired long ago, rolling over the hard mattress and falling to the ground on the other side.
Sarah’s eyes follow my stunt in disbelief.
Then the first bullets break the glass and punch through the cheap wood of the door.
Cowering next to the bed, thinking about how I’m supposed to be praying right now, I see between the legs of the bed Sarah fallen to the floor. Can’t see if she got hit by a bullet. Not that I want her to die or anything, but right now, I’d say she’d had it coming. Then she gets up (thank God), swearing up a shit-storm. Outside, more guns are being fired, and more bullets carve their way through the wall and front door. I push myself up to the bed, but duck again quickly as a stray bullet lands in the fabric close to me. Lucky one.
Sarah’s sitting on the backseat, and she’s been complaining since the second we left. And it’s not like Mitch is in any better mood, what with his silence and staring into the distance. All I can do is keep driving down the road, ignoring her nagging and trying not to feel too awkward with Mitch stewing in whatever is going on in his mind.
“Where the hell are we even going, Nate? Why is this place so far out?” God, I know it’s her big day and the last thing she wants to do is hang with me or drive around all day, but she needs to calm the fuck down. Sure wish Mitch would tell his new wife to be quiet. What the hell happened with the two, anyway?