Thursday was my day to write the next installment of The Mental Ward. Then I got called into work on Thursday. And now it is Saturday, and I'm tapping out this pitiful excuse on a phone so you guys know I haven't forgotten you. I'm out of town at the moment, but I'll be home next week. And I'll work on the next piece of the story then. I can hardly wait to share the finale with you!!!
"You're more poet than anything." I folded my arms and glared at Ian. He sat perched on the edge of the roof, dressed like an adventurer. I coveted every part of his outfit -- the breezy shirt made of course cloth, the sturdy breeches, the leather boots that laced up to his calves, the dagger on his hip. Tomorrow he would set sail to a life I craved more than anything. But did he appreciate his opportunities? No. And I hated him for it. "Do you despise poets, Ingrid?" His voice was sad, but a grin twisted at the corners of his mouth as he finished his question. Those blue eyes of his cut in my direction with a teasing flash. "They don't DO anything." My thoughts and emotions ran in torrents, but I could see his flowing smoothly and quietly. Even in his uneasiness about the morrow, his face was a peaceful as a child falling asleep in his own bed. ...
I see you haven't posted here in a while. I guess that means you've been busy (aren't we all?). But I just wanted to let you know that I'm looking forward to the rest of the story, whenever you have time to post it. Hope you're doing well!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Janie!
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