New story!

Something fantastic happened this weekend: it's the first time I've wanted to write for over a year. My characters fell silent when hubs got really sick, and I think they were overwhelmed with everything that happened. I've been marathon-typing ever since then as well, struggling to make enough money for us to stay afloat, and up until now writing for fun has been out of the question. 

The new storyline is a bit complicated as it follows two sisters - Cyndy and Brandi - through a time of ordeals and turmoil, so I suspect the book will be long before it's finished.

Is there a downside? Well, as always when a story buzzes around in my head it's hard to focus on anything else. I sit in front of the computer, telling myself, "I have to work. I'm really interested in this, I am. And I need to do it. I really need to do it." Meanwhile, the inner me insists, "But they're in trouble. You can't just leave them on the brink of disaster..."

Here's an excerpt from one of the early chapters:

A shriek rang from the office, and Jack found himself unable to move. The paralysis only lasted for a second, but during that moment his mind painted out a million scenarios where Cyndy was no more. 

If anything happened to her, it would be his fault. 

She wouldn’t even be in this part of the state if he hadn’t been such a screw-up. If he had kept his ego in check and used common sense they'd be in the city right now. Instead they were in the middle of nowhere, locked in a store with a possible murderer.

His body finally obeyed and he spun around, pushed Stanley out of the way, and ran through the small store.

He didn’t have to go far. Cyndy darted in the other direction and threw herself in his arms, sobbing.

“What’s wrong, are you alright?”

She clung to him and buried her face against him. He tried to make himself free from her grip.

“Stay here, I’ll go investigate.”

She shook her head. “No… No, don’t go in there.”

“Okay, I’m here. Are you hurt? Tell me what happened.”

When she still didn’t say anything, he pushed her away enough to be able to see her face. She looked okay, but what did that mean on a day as strange as this?

Cyndy drew a deep breath. “There was this mouse.”

Stanley interrupted her. “All this for a mouse?”

Jack glared. “Shut up, Stanley.”

His wife sent him a grateful look. “As I was saying, there was this mouse. Cute, white little thing, it peeked out from a shelf. I talked a little to it, thinking it would want some crumbs or something.”

Stanley interrupted again. “You’re feeding mice in my store?”

“Stanley, if you don’t shut up so I can hear what she has to say, I’ll make you.”

Cyndy seemed oblivious of the interruption. “So, it came a little closer, right. You know how their little noses twitch, really cute. It sat down to wash its face with its little paws… It took a few steps towards me, and then it fell over, and it changed.  Jack, the mouse changed.

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