Okay, almost 4, so I’m calling pause to the writing marathon. I need to move around some, before I grow into this chair and attach. I’m thinking a few hours of cleaning and other chores, watching some dumb Christmas holiday movie, eat dinner, and then another writing stretch from 7-10 CST. Let me know if you want to join on the Zoom for that! And then I’m recording the podcast 10-1 tomorrow, but will otherwise likely be writing both before and after.
4100 words down, out of 15,000 due Sunday night. If I can do another 2-3K this evening, I think I’ll be okay for finishing on time.
(I could totally ask for an extension, and I’d get one, but I hate asking George for extensions, and I’ve had to do it too many times before, due to illness, etc. I don’t want to be the always-late person in his mind; I want to be one of the reliable ones, who he can call on a moment’s notice to pinch-hit an urgent writing task!)
She woke, eventually, to nightmare. Appa was sitting by her bed when she woke, murmuring prayers. His stethoscope hung uselessly around his neck, and his dark hair was streaked with grey that Nikisha didn’t remember from before. There was no wink or smile from him when she opened her eyes, not even a sigh of relief. Just grief, weighing his shoulders down. When Appa took her hand, he squeezed it a little too hard.