How 'bout we just move on to today's STBM?
Ahhh! No, Jurassic Park is real and we're all going to be mangled in this flea market! Gasp!
Yes, yes, those are velociraptors hanging from a ceiling, semi-hiding in fake foliage. With some lamps hanging from the platform because...why not? I'm not for sure if the dinosaurs are for sale, or if they're just awesome decorations. I assume it's safe to assume they're for sale because it's a flea market, but who knows? Maybe the flea market folks don't want to part with their ceiling of awesome.
I would've killed for those things as a kid. I had a serious love of all things dinosaur from the time I was knee-high to a grasshopper until about 7th grade. Yeah, I got made fun of a lot. By a lot, I mean, like every day. Multiple times a day. Apparently it's unacceptable to love the sh!t out of dinosaurs if you're a girl. What a sad world we live in.
Galley read-through: check. Chapter 6: check. Chapter 6: check. No, I'm not repeating myself because I'm a ding-dong. Yes, I am a ding-dong. I finished chapter 6 of my WIP and chapter 6 of my fanfic. I also finished reading the first paperback copy of The Turncoat's Temptress, checking again for errors. I spent a lot of time this weekend curled in the Demon Chair From Hell (we're coming to terms), reading and editing and trying not to melt. Summer found us again, which I'm sort of okay with, because I want to weep when it's cool outside in the summer. That's not right. I'm not ready for summer to end. I'm never ready and yet the universe fails to take this into consideration every single year.
I fall in love with The Turncoat's Temptress a little more each time I read it. It brings all my favorite characters together.
A shadow fell over them. The biggest man Nora had ever seen looked down from the ship's deck. A scar ran from his temple to almost the center of his chin. Cool gray eyes assessed them. He was the man from Basil's memories in Oklahoma.
“Causing my friends trouble, Tinwhistle?”
Nora couldn't place his accent. Definitely not Southern, British, nor Texan. Van Buren, she guessed, must be Dutch.
“Not intentionally. But I think you remember my curiosity about certain events that transpired before our meeting in Tulsa.”
The Courtes looked at each other, clearly baffled by the exchange.
“Moeder van hemmel. You look like death walking and you're bullshitting about serpents and eagles?” Van Buren looked over his shoulder. “Sophie! Go to the quarters reserved for Tinwhistle and send for the doctor. Tell Cook to ready something for two weary travelers.”
He looked at the Courtes. “I'm afraid this may be a short stop. Don't dawdle in town.”
Abel cocked his head. “We on the run?”
“No!” The redheaded woman spoke up. “This is a leisurely journey back to Philadelphia. We're not running from anything. You promised, Captain.”
Van Buren grinned. “The life of a sky pirate, Romy. I suggest you hurry for souvenirs if that's what you're after.”
She glared at him, bounced Maggie on her hip, turned and strode back across the gangplank. “On your orders, Captain.”
Abel sighed. “Ginger ale.”
At Nora's confused looked, he shrugged. “Helps with the airsickness.”
I logged 14,000 words more or less last week, so to make up for my reckless abandon of writing and the accompanying murderfying pain my wrist, I was forced to wear my wrist brace all day Saturday. My wrist thought it was the best idea ever, my elbow disagreed. Not that it did much good because we went to Bass Pro Shops and I carried the mighty hulking PeeWee Monster around for an hour. He can't walk because he's afraid of anyone taller than him. That is to say, everyone. If you want to see a dog have a freak-out, put him down in a crowd and watch his eye bulge. It's really tragic. But if you hold him, he'll let anyone pet him and he'll snizzle all over their hands. Twice people have said, "That's a good name for him." And twice I have looked at them like, okay, weird-o. There's no good reason that his name is PeeWee. He just is. Actually, if you must know, his full name is PeeWee Roo Chin. My husband wouldn't let me call him Roo, even though we had a Bandicoot and I was trying to neatly categorize our dogs' names. He just let me call Bandicoot that because her nickname was Cooter.
I'm sorry, I've turned into one of those crazy people who talks about pet names. I spent a lot of time reading over the weekend, people. My brain is fried. It's Monday. Try not to do...well, anything, too hard.