The sun came out around noon, drying up the water from yesterday’s rain. But boy, did it get hot! I’m glad I’m inside doing the gazillion loads of laundry I didn’t get done yesterday.
B2 has been invited to be a part of her friend’s Quinceañera. I didn’t even know these existed until she told me about it, but it is definitely an honor. She’s over at the country club right now for her first ballroom dancing lesson. God, I’d love to be a fly on the wall. It’s got to be hysterical – not for B2 because she’s had 7 years of ballet, but she’s one of 14 kids in the court.
I sent out nine queries for a project today and I’m working on New Project 3. I’ve about 1000 words written for New Project 3 (which is a revamped New Project 2) and New Project 1. I’m not certain which one I want to focus on. I have to pick one because I know if I don’t, neither one of them will get done. So, here are the openings. Can you help me decide?
Chapter 1 of Project 3
“He knows you’re here,” the nurse said.
“How so,” Raina asked, not bothering to look up. She was a critical point in her work.
“I won’t bore you with the details . . . that’s just what the research says.”
Raina didn’t see how. Rob had been unconscious since the accident a week ago. She didn’t want to think about what people said happened. She couldn’t, not now, maybe not ever. She focused, her ink on Rob’s arm, just her and her art. The only sounds were her deep breaths and the steady beats from the life support.
“That’s unusual,” the nurse said, looking over Raina’s shoulder. “Did he let you draw on him before the accident.”
“He used to . . . before-.” Raina stopped talking. “Should I not? It’s henna – completely washable.” She couldn’t quit now.
“I won’t tell if you won’t.” The nurse stood still, moving only her mouth as she counted Rob’s heartbeats. The antiseptic smell of sick people and sanitized stainless steel overwhelmed her.
“Thank you. When he wakes up, I want him to know that I’ve been here. He’ll recognize the tattoo.”
“As I said before, he knows you’re here.” She quietly left the room.
Raina glanced at her watch. If she stayed to finish, she’d be late for school, not that her being there made a difference. It was the last week of class and her finals were finished. Worse, she’d have to stand silently by and watch as the other kids poured out their sympathy and attention to Rob’s girlfriend Jenna.
It wouldn’t have mattered as much if she thought Jenna was actually concerned about Rob, but Jenna’s only concern was Jenna. No one cared or even remembered that Raina and Rob were best friends until high school – when their friendship was ripped apart by some invisible tear in the social fabric that threaded itself through every student who entered its hallowed halls. Of course he’d still pop over to her house when he had nothing else going on, pretending like things hadn’t changed. But they had.
It was all so unfair. She hated feeling this way. Life always had its share of bump and bruises, but the feeling of helplessness as her best friend drifted away and now this just sucked.
Chapter 1 of New Project 1
Saint Denis, France May 1212
A tattered cloak made its way, seemingly without notice, through the marketplace of Saint Denis. Beneath the hood, Isidora exposed only enough of her eyes to see the muddy road that led to the town square and kept her haversack of elixirs and potions close to her. The sick folk at the marketplace would just have to wait until tomorrow to purchase their medicines – she had business to attend to. Urgent business. In less than an hour her mother was to be tried as a witch.
A dead wind blew through the winding streets, touching everything with cold, even though the sun was shining. Isidora pulled her cloak closer to her throat, remembering her mother’s repeated warning that cold, damp air carries ill spirits. The town was certainly full of ill spirits today.
“Watch it!” hollered an old man pushing a heavy cart, when she stepped into his path.
“Pardon,” she whispered, and stepped back to let him pass. There was already a crowd gathers in the square and she snaked her way to the front, hoping her mother wouldn’t see her.
Aubrey Barton looked pitiful – dirty clothes, ratty black hair and smudges of dirt on her face, and it was obvious that she hadn’t had a decent meal or a restful night since King Phillip’s men took her away over a week ago. Despite her shambled appearance and the shackles, Isidora could see the fire in her eyes and the will to survive. She’d be found innocent and come home soon, Isidora reasoned. After all, she’d done nothing wrong. Nothing other than spurn the attention of a powerful townsman.
