newlifeinstpaul | NanoWrimo - FINAL WEEK! (Reply)

I know nobody reads this stuff anyway--for crying out loud, I posted Chapter 3 to near zero reaction--but ya know what? I DUN KEER CUZ IT'S MA JERNALS. So there.

But what was the truth, really? Where did all this begin? Did it start with that first chance meeting while she was changing clothes? Zachary couldn’t help but reminisce on that moment for a while. The delicious, almost impossible curve of her bottom. How it puckered outward almost outrageously, yet looked so firm, so tight. The way her waist tapered from the fullness of her breasts to a point so much smaller, then flared back out for her hips….only to taper again for her thighs. He didn’t actually see anything per se. Nothing of an overly exposed nature, by any means. There wasn’t much of her cleavage to see that he already couldn’t see any given Sunday in the pews. While she was a modest woman, there’s only so much modesty one can display with her form. Perhaps there was a bit of her bottom visible around the curve of her panties--but actually, he didn’t catch much of it. The shadows falling across her body and the surprise of the moment denied him that.

What he saw, above and beyond anything else, is the way the sun loved her skin. The way it played across her back and her navel and her thighs. The luscious deep caramel tone of it all. He couldn’t help but wonder how warm and dreamily soft it must have felt to have laid a finger to it or his hands across it.

It wasn’t the sexuality of the moment. Merely craving to meet some physical urge would have been a lot easier to displace. To fold away in the back of his mind as mere carnal thought. Merely undressing her, clutching her breasts or grinding her body against his until he exploded inside of her would have been--well, heady, intoxicating no doubt. But it would have been easier to dismiss. Mere wanton animal lust. Simple, categorical sin.

What she had was the sensuality. The way even her most casual and mundane motion seemed like a timeless and elegant dance. The way her slightly more than shoulder length hair accentuated every move she made. The way she unbuttoned her blouse, loosened her belt, then her skirt. She did none of these things in a provocative fashion. She was merely changing her clothes. But there was still this basic, underlying rhythm to the way she did things. Perhaps for the first time, he noticed it. There was something about everything she did that he somehow, unconsciously, unwitting found the need to sway in time with.

Besides, I need to stall. What else am I gonna do, write more of my story?

I fell into a bit of a crisis last Wednesday. I forgot to bring my lappy home, Chica came over and I was busy anyway between baking, talking to her in person and Cookie Baking Mom on the phone. So I fell 1700 words behind.

I never got a 'double' in, but I did have a couple 2000+ days, so now I'm only 150 words behind.

But I could really REALLY stand to get a leg up.

I won't be out of story. Not even close. I have ata least four chapters to go before I can end the story. So I've been debating with myself. Do I write four 1667 word chapters? That would both win and complete the story. Or do I write it as it comes to me?

Problem with that is: Who's to say I won't get myself intentionslly stuck?

I don't want to pound away at my keyboard come Thursday night...rushing to make a final verification at 11 pm while their web page gags under the load. Nuh uh. I wanna win early. TONIGHT.

Let's see what happens...