First off, how did yesterday go? It was crowded at the HQ for Secretary Albright’s appearance and I didn’t get a chance to speak with her–she had to leave just as I was getting to her table–but there were a whole lot of people who got out to canvas and that’s what’s important.
Then there was last night’s video chat I led on world building. It started at 8 last night and was expected to last about an hour: I didn’t close it out until a quarter after 11, three hours and fifteen minutes after starting, with lot of interesting questions at the end. I had a ball doing it and would do another if asked.
All of this means I actually went two days without writing, which is sort of a good thing in that I’m rested up from all the busy in my life. The rest of the month and the first week of November is gonna be crazy with the election, so I have to anticipate that getting down a nice word count every day is going to be something of a chore.
But I will do what I can.
See? I’m filled with anticipation.
Part Two, Chapter Four, is underway, however, and this is a good thing. I’m a little over four hundred word into it this morning and I do intend on adding more before recording another video at 8 PM tonight. Yeah, I’m that busy right now.
So what’s happening? When your chapter is titled Pickups and Deliveries, I suppose one could say that there will be a pickup followed by a delivery. And said pickup is about to go down in Cardiff, Wales:
(The following excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Three: C For Continuing, copyright 2016 by Cassidy Frazee)
Bernice Rutherford exited the Audi salon and waved to the driver as she drove off. Though it wasn’t necessary to keep up appearances of normalcy with The Malibey’s, someone out and about Timber’s Square might notice a young, well-dressed black woman approaching the corner house having seemed to appear from out of nowhere, and that was something she was going to avoid at all costs.
Though yesterday she’d told her supervisor that she wasn’t nervous about this morning’s pickup, Bernice felt a bit of trepidation as she approached the front door. Kerry’s
summer of passive-aggressive conflict coupled with the anger shown by his parent towards her when she dropped him off two-and-a-half months early only worked to remind her that anything from cool disrespect to furious arguing could result the moment the front door opened.
Putting her nervousness aside, Bernice clutched the shoulder strap of her handbag and rang the doorbell. Fifteen seconds after receiving no response to her call, she wondered if she should Far Sight inside the house and see if there was a problem—
Kerry appeared at inside door and quickly opened the outer door for his visitor. “Hi.” He stood aside. “Come on in.”
“Thank you, Kerry.” Bernice immediately steeled herself for something bad for Kerry’s body language set her on guard. He’s not even looking at me. Whatever is happening may be ongoing. She spotted his roll-on bag at the bottom of the stairs which didn’t surprise her in the least: it indicated he was ready to leave. The only thing missing was his ever-present backpack.
Kerry moved past Bernice and continued towards the back of the house. “I’m almost ready.” He glanced over his left shoulder. “I’m just cleaning up from breakfast; once I’m done here we can go.”
“Sounds good.” Bernice peeked into the sitting room: there wasn’t anyone there. She side-stepped inside and looked into the dining room: no one there, either. Making as little noise as possible she passed through the dining room and entered the family room: Kerry’s parents weren’t here, either.
Rather than use Far Sight to see if anyone was upstairs she extended her hearing and listened for sounds on the first floor. There was nothing but silence: no one moving around, no one speaking—no one at all.
Bernice entered the kitchen as silently as possible and watched Kerry busying himself as he washed up his breakfast utensils. “Kerry…” When he didn’t respond she continued. “Where are your parents?”
He continued cleaning. “They’re not here.”
All’s Quiet On the Malibey Front, but why is Kerry home alone? I should point out it’s eight in the morning, which is the time Ms. Rutherford picked up Kerry on his way to his B Levels, making it possible that something’s afoot.
Wonder if it’s a bad thing?