I want to share some huge personal news with you guys!!!
As of November 19, 2019, after two NaNoWriMos, four and a half notebooks, countless hours of brainstorming, and functionally zero research and editing, all spanning one full calendar year...
I have finished, for the first time in my entire life, the first draft of a novel. Cat and Cleo's Guide to Cross-Country Liminality counts out at 150,724 words over 356 single-spaced pages and it's a beautiful mess of nonsensical plot, priceless dialogue, extreme typos, touching character moments, and poor word choice. As Jane Smiley said: "Every first draft is perfect, because all a first draft has to do is exist."
And I think, also for the first time in my life, I'll be writing a second draft. After so many abandoned passion projects, it feels good to finally have something to stick with and believe in long-term. I hope one day soon I can share with everyone the full adventures of Cat, Cleo, Holly, Bash, and Jacket!
Rules: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic/original/anything!) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence!
(I'm sharing a few sentences though so I'm just gonna tag a random number. Thanks @limassol-writes for the tag!)
Cat hesitated. Her first instinct was to refuse Silma's offer because it sounded gross, though of course she hadn't planned on saying so. Then, the rules of human hospitality occurred to her, the kind where you aren't supposed to decline food and drink from your host. Or was it the opposite - were you supposed to refuse in most households in order to be considered polite?
She honestly couldn't remember which rules came from where; even among humans the rules differed by culture. Then, there was the added dimension of Fae hospitality, which seemed both complicated and also completely arbitrary from what she had overheard from Holly. It was probably nothing like any kind of human hospitality, and trying to guess at the differences just gave her a headache.
Late October, 1997
22 years before Cat and Cleo’s Guide to Cross-Country Liminality
The soft glow of the roaring fireplace illuminated every detail of Analyn’s face, the curve of her lips set into a perfectly content smile. Shoulders pressed together, she and Kofi each sipped slowly at a glass of red wine, enjoying the quiet that only came after hours of coaxing their children to bed.
“Where's this one from?” she asked, holding up the glass as she savoured the complex taste.
“Spain, 1924,” Kofi said. He took a long sip, memories coming to mind that were just as soon dismissed - as wonderful as they were, he was very happy to be in the present with her.
“Were you there?” she asked.
“Briefly,” he answered. “I visited a vineyard called Puerta del Cielo and bought this very shortly before a local wildfire wiped out most of the vines.” Eyes dancing with a playful light, he added, “Then I knew I would have to save it. To share with someone as special and as rare as it became.”
“Oh, please,” she groaned, giving him a small, indignant shove. Despite herself, she grinned into her wine and turned away, the rim of the glass keeping her smile out of sight.
He tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and took the opportunity to turn her head back towards him with a gentle pull. He looked into her eyes with a lovesick grin. “It isn't fair of you to hide your beautiful smile when something I said caused it.”
Analyn snorted with affectionate laughter and shook her head. "You're too much.”
"Next time you can come with me," he said, stroking her arm with the lightest touch, unrelenting in his charm. "I'll take you to the vineyards under the moonlight. It’ll be very romantic.”
“Not with two children in tow, it won’t be,” she countered playfully. He watched the way her eyelids fluttered as she rolled them at the thought of trying to manage that kind of chaos.
“I was thinking a little later,” Kofi said. “Once they’re both grown and we have infinite moments like this to spend together.”
“Please, I can barely stay up past eleven now-” She yawned halfway through the words, the mere mention of it lulling her to sleep. “I don’t think I’m going to be much more nocturnal in my sixties.”
“Maybe a little later, then,” Kofi offered, intertwining his fingers with hers. She moved in closer to him, his presence like a magnet drawing her in. “Maybe in your hundreds?”
Analyn’s voice quickly became stern. “Kofi-” she started.
The mood of the room shifted in an instant. He pulled back, ever so slightly, so that he could look her properly in the eyes. “Consider it.” All traces of their mutual good humour evaporated, and his voice became a soft plea. “Please.”
“I did consider it,” Analyn said. “Carefully. Five years ago, when you first asked me.”
“So much has changed since then.”
“Yes, but my answer hasn’t,” she said firmly.
“You can take time to think about it,” he told her. “You don’t have to make the decision right now.”
“But I have made my decision.” Analyn’s voice became harder with each exchange, but it never escalated in volume.
Similarly, Kofi’s voice stayed level, but his tone became increasingly insistent, an urgency in his words. “What if something happens to you? We just adopted our second child. I want them to know that their mother is safe.” He squeezed her hand. “I want to know that their mother is safe.”
Analyn let go of him. “And who’s going to take care of them during the day when we’re both asleep?” she asked. “Who’s going to take them to the bus stop and wait with them when the sun comes up? Don’t you think they’ll panic when they see their mother bedridden with the pain of transformation for weeks on end?”
His reply was immediate. “We can figure it out.”
“It concerns me that you didn’t think to figure it out before you offered.” She had fully separated from him, arms crossed, now occupying her own private space on the couch. Their glasses of wine had been placed to the side of the coffee table, forgotten.
Kofi took care to speak calmly. “Besides the logistics,” he moved a little closer to her to bridge the widening gap between them. She allowed it, but did not lean in to meet him. “What concerns you?”
“Does it matter?” Analyn asked.
“To me, yes.”
“I don’t think I want to tell you,” she said. “Because if I do, you’re just going to try to talk me out of it.”
“You have my word I will not,” he promised. She still hesitated. He gave her just a hint of his warm smile. “Should I say it in Realm Speech for you?”
Ignoring this, Analyn relented, though her voice remained steady. “It doesn’t exactly sound like a pleasant existence,” she told him. “But honestly? I told you last time, and it hasn’t changed - I don’t want to live forever.” Her shoulders went up in a slight shrug, but nothing about the gesture was unsure of itself. “Eighty, ninety years? That’s enough for me.”
He looked like he was about to say something, but she didn’t give him the chance. “I mean, outliving our children? Can you imagine that, Kofi? I could never see Jaya-” A lump in her throat stopped her words; she shook her head as if to banish the thought. “Or Jackie- I could never see that happen. I could never live with that.”
“It might be possible that when they’re older, they’ll want to-”
“You will not ask them,” she ordered sharply. “You will not put that kind of pressure on our children. You will not ask them to make that kind of decision.”
“Annie...” he began, startled by her sudden intensity. But the way she looked at him, narrow eyes daring him to disagree, made him come up short for words. He waited a beat, and decided that it was an avenue best left, for the moment, unexplored. There was plenty of time later to have that conversation. “I am only saying that you don’t know the future. There are-”
“You’re doing it,” she interrupted him. “You said you weren’t going to try to convince me, and that's exactly what you're doing.” He was once again left without words to reply, leaving a long moment of silence hanging in the air. Finally, Analyn said, “Don’t ask me again, Kofi. I’ve made my decision. As soon as I said no, it should have been a full stop.”
Kofi looked as if there were many more counterpoints waiting to bubble to the surface, more sentiments tripping over themselves to be expressed, but he simply said, “Of course.” He took her hand again. “Of course you’re right, my love,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”
He saw the tension lift from her shoulders as soon as he let it go. He ran his thumb across the back of her hand as if etching the apology into her bones, to be sure it was received.
Finally, she nodded, satisfied. When she relaxed again into his touch, he lifted her hand and pressed his lips first against her knuckles, then against the inside of her wrist, feeling the pulse that beat just under her skin. He let his kiss linger for a long moment before placing her hand on his cheek, then his hand on hers. “I will never ask again.”
***
Despite his promise, he would ask once more, many years later. Desperately, with shell-shocked eyes, he would plead with her over the sound of the sirens to let him do it before it was too late.
Send a number to find out which of their OCs the creator would most like to:
#5: Throw out a window
The obvious answer is Constance Walker, one of NYC’s resident vampires who thinks she’s hot shit and really really isn’t, but CONSIDER
Bash: Hey. Push me out this window.
Me: why… would I do that
Bash: Just do it, come on. *stands in the window frame expectantly*
Me: I’m not… I’m not gonna? push you out a window?
Bash: Ugh, fine I have to do everything myself. *throws self backwards and disappears for a few moments before floating back up completely unharmed* I put an elemental spell on the gravity around this building! Pretty cool, right? You should try it. *flings self back outside*
