NaNoWriMo 2015 – Day Eighteen

Sore throat. Sinus headache. Nagging cough. I’m just glad they stayed away until after I’d passed 50,000 words because today was basically unproductive. I did manage 1,271 words to bring me to 51,377 words total. That’s a better cushion; sometimes when you upload your MS to the NaNoWriMo site to verify the word count, words get “lost.” Of course, I want to win.

This rough draft of my first romance (well, that remains to be seen) should be done with another half-dozen or so scenes, which will end with a set-up in case I get it in my head to do a sequel.

So, yesterday’s excerpt revealed I killed off half of the sweet couple (or did I?). Since then, Mai has made a discovery (a diamond ring Alexei had bought for her) and decided on a career change (from an analyst to a spy). This excerpt takes place about a year after Alexei’s death (now 1980) and after she has been “fully operational” for a while.

She had tracked this specific tattoo artist down to a tattoo parlour in a seedy area of Amsterdam’s De Waalen. The neighborhood was nothing but filth, but the inside of the parlour was bright and sterile, the floors scrubbed, and the whole place smelling of disinfectant. The heavily tattooed woman behind the desk was in her fifties and, but for the tattoos, looked like a babushka in a butcher’s shop. She explained the process, showed the sealed needles, indicated the needle gun in an autoclave, and explained the tattoo’s cost would depend on what she wanted. When the tattooed woman placed notebooks with samples on the counter, the other woman waived them away.
“I know what I want,” she said.
The woman behind the counter brought out her pencils and sketching paper. “Tell me,” she said.
The customer shook her head. “I want Arkady to do this,” she said.
A short, thick man emerged through some black curtains and looked her over. “I don’t tattoo women,” he said. “Yevgenia does.”
The woman held up an incredible amount of money and described what she wanted. The Russian barked something to Yevgenia, and she came from behind the counter and exited the tattoo parlour.
Arkady gave the slight woman before him a skeptical sneer. “Go away, little girl,” he said, shaking his head. “That is assassin’s tattoo. I only put it on those who deserve it.”
From the large tote bag on her shoulder, she took two file folders with black slashes across them. She opened each to pictures clipped to a page. The burly Russian studied them for a long time, closed them, and handed them back to her. He took the money and counted it. The bills went into his jeans pocket. He held the curtains open and nodded for her to go to the back of the shop.
In his small studio, which was as clean and pristine as the outer area, he asked her, “Where did you see this tattoo?”
“On someone who meant a great deal to me,” she replied.
“Only one other person I have put this art on,” he said.
“I know. That’s why I found you,” she said.
Arkady spent a good half-hour on the drawing, not letting her make any suggestions; then, he showed it to her: a black hammer and sickle with a white skull impaled on the sickle blade, through the eyeholes; blood dripped from the blade to form a word beneath the skull. CMEPT, smyert, the Russian word for death.
“Yes,” she said, “that’s it exactly. On my back, over my left scapula.”
“You will be first non-Russian I have put this on,” Arkady said, “but for you, for him, I will make exception. Take off your blouse and brassiere.”
She did so, folding her arms over her breasts. He shrugged and said, “I am homosexual. Your breasts do nothing for me.”
She kept her arms where they were. On a silver chain around her neck was a diamond ring, at least a carat in an intricate platinum setting. The light from his lamp glinted off it. An easy thing to slip from her neck, but she saw where he looked.
“Touch that, and you won’t be able to fuck for a month,” she said.
He shrugged again and pulled on surgical gloves. “Lie down on your stomach,” he told her, and arranged his needles and inks. “I will not go easy because you are woman, even his woman.”
“Please don’t,” she said.

NaNoWriMo 2015 – Day Seventeen

Back in 2008 when I decided to try this thing I’d read about, this National Novel Writing Month, where you write a 50,000-word novel in thirty days, I was still employed full time in a job which typically saw twelve- to fourteen-hour days, six or seven days a week. Still, at 1,667 words per day, I felt it was doable.

At the end of October 2008 I was assigned two trips which would encompass thirteen days out of the thirty. The 1,667 words per day became 2,941 per day, but, hey, I easily knocked 5,000 or 6,000 words for congressional white papers on a near daily basis. Still doable.

In seventeen days in November 2008 I wrote 50,000-plus words. Some days were 4,000- and 5,000-word days, but I did it.

In seventeen days in November 2015, I’ve written 50,106 words and won my eighth NaNoWriMo, but, hey, I’m going for ten. Two of those much-edited (very much-edited) NaNoWriMo novels are now being reviewed by a publisher, so worthwhile? Definitely. If you’ve been wondering if you should give it a try, do it. It’s fun, exasperating, challenging, frustrating, and just about any other positive or negative adjective you can think of.

Oh, and this year’s novel? Not finished yet. Thank goodness I have thirteen days left to clear up all these dangling plot threads. And because I wasn’t done with the angst, here’s a mind-bending excerpt. Remember, I mentioned it’s not done yet. 😉

Mai hadn’t abandoned her usual method of analysis. Her papers, maps, and transcripts were scattered about her office, and she walked among them, barefoot, sleeves of her blouse rolled up, pencils poked into her braid like pins in a cushion. Grace Lydell got to the doorway, then turned to Nelson.

“I can’t do this,” she mouthed.

Nelson moued his displeasure at her and walked around her to the open doorway. He tapped on the door.

Mai looked up, her smile bright. “Oh, dear, my boss and my boss’ boss. Whatever have I done?”

“Mai,” Nelson said. “Sit down.”

She frowned, and Nelson read her expression. She knew but she wanted to deny it.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Sit down,” he repeated.

“No, you tell me what it is,” she said.

Nelson sighed and took a deep breath. He found the news he was about to deliver as incredible as she would.

“It turns out the intell we got on that Nazi was a trap, a KGB trap,” Nelson said.

“You’re talking, but you’re not saying anything,” she said. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that he’s gone,” Nelson said.

“As in back to Russia?” she asked, though he read the disbelief. Much as he had when he’d heard the news, she was grasping for any straw within reach.

“No, kiddo,” he said. “Alexei’s…”

How could he put those two words together to tell her and himself what they’d both lost?

“Alexei’s dead,” he said.

“How?” she asked.

“Just accept that he is,” he replied.

“How?” she persisted.

“Fuck it, Mai. You know the KGB better than any of us do. How do you fucking think? They walked him into a cell in the basement of the Lubyanka and put a bullet in his head,” Nelson said.

If her desk hadn’t been behind her, she would have hit the floor on her ass. Grace finally found her gumption and went to Mai’s side, embracing her.

“I want to see,” Mai said.

Nelson shook with anger, not at her ultimately, but for the enemies he was no longer physically capable of fighting. “The KGB doesn’t send the bodies back to us,” he said. “They have ovens for that.”

“Nelson, Jesus Christ,” Grace said.

“She asked, Grace. She’s a big girl,” Nelson said.

“And you don’t have to be a fucking bastard about it,” Grace said.

At first he thought Mai was going to handle it like a trouper, but a sound filled the room, one he’d only heard once before and never wanted to again. For the British once he’d observed an IRA funeral, and the woman had made this same noise, a high-pitched, ululating wail.

Mai had sucked in a deep breath and keened for her lost love. When she had finished, her face eased then hardened into a mask he recognized all too well.

NaNoWriMo 2015 – Day Sixteen

Although I made steady progress this weekend, I didn’t post an update here. I thought that events in Paris on Friday were far more important than writing about word counts and write-ins.

I did go to a great write-in on Saturday. My Shenandoah Valley NaNoWriMo group had an in-person meet-up with another NaNoWriMo group from the far northern end of the Valley. We started in a coffee shop in Winchester, moved to a Denny’s in Strasburg, a Panera in Harrisonburg, and ended with an online write-in for the evening. It was great to meet people you normally only “see” online. Lots of talking about writing, but lots of writing happened, too.

Today was an epic writing day. I wrote a bit at home this morning, went to my regular SWAG write-in at a local coffee shop at lunch time, and wrote more this evening. Even I was a bit shocked when I added up the total words for the half-dozen or so scenes I wrote today: 6,045. That brings me over 45,000 (45,167) and puts winning NaNoWriMo in the near future. Tomorrow perhaps.

The story is not quite ready to end, though. I’ve gotten the two lovers through some ups and downs, and they’re on the same page about their future. But… I can’t help it. I have to throw a wrench in the works and maybe leave it with a cliffhanger. Not usually done in a romance, but I’ve ever been one to turn things on their heads.

I’ll set today’s excerpt up a bit. Alexei has decided he wants to move to London so he and Mai will have plenty of face time to determine if they are, indeed, in a relationship. Mai comes to America for a visit and a test of living in proximity. Nelson, Alexei’s former partner and now his boss, offers Mai a job in America, but she wants to take it for the right reason, and that may not be Alexei. She wakes him up in the middle of the night to give him her answer:


“Mmf,” he murmured, then brought himself awake. “What? What’s wrong?”

“If I moved here, I’m not living here. It’s too small,” she said.

He rolled over and looked at her. “Okay,” he said.

“And I’m still finishing my masters, and I’ll go back to England to fulfill my RAF obligations,” she said.

“No problem.”

“And I have to have a life beyond you,” she said.

“Nelson works us all too hard to have a life,” he murmured.

“Be serious and listen to me. I can’t do this for you. I have to do it for me,” she said.

“I think I said that earlier,” he replied.

“Well, yes, but you were trying to convince me to take the job,” she said.

“Are you going to take the job?” he asked, and held his breath for her answer.

“And if we don’t work out, we’ll have to be professional enough to work together,” she said.

“Of course.”

“You’re saying what I want to hear so you can get back to sleep,” she said.

“Mostly. Are you going to take the job?”

“Can the paperwork hit Holt’s desk by the time I return from hols?”

NaNoWriMo 2015 – Day Twelve

In some ways NaNoWriMo writing is like any other writing, aside from the whole 50,000 words in thirty days thing. You come up with an idea, you plan the project down to the chapter and scene (loving the Scrivener), and, wouldn’t you know it, a whole minor plot line involving the protagonist’s relationship with his almost-grown son pops up and demands attention, to the tune of 3,754 words.

Yet, it isn’t useless because I gained deeper insight into the male lead: He wants his personal happiness but not at the expense of his son’s, whom, because of his employment, he’s had to leave in a boarding school for the children of spies. Oh, and he hasn’t informed the female main character he has a son because he doesn’t know how she’ll react to the fact she’s only four years older than the son.

Wow! This romance stuff can be almost as convoluted as a spy tale.

Today’s word count brings me to a total of 35,398.

By the way, if you’re reading the excerpts and thinking to yourself, or aloud maybe, boy, she really does use a lot of dialogue tags, rest assured it’s merely an increase-the-word-count artifice. They get edited out later.

So, without further ado, here we have an excerpt from the end of the father/son discussion:

“Do you love her?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know that, yet. I honestly thought after your mother, I’d never feel anything for anyone again, but this woman… The first time I was with her,” Alexei said, lowering his voice, “it felt like something which had been happening a long time.”

Then, he flushed, glancing at Peter, as if embarrassed, which Peter was, a bit. He’d never expected to discuss such things in such detail with his father.

“I’m sorry,” Alexei said, “I don’t mean for this to be uncomfortable.”

“I never thought I’d be discussing, well, this with you,” Peter said.

“Me, either, but remember if any of this bothers you, I want you to tell me, and I’ll not see her again,” Alexei said.

“And have me be the excuse for your unhappiness?”

“I didn’t mean it that way. You’re practically an adult, but you are my son, my only family here, and your comfort with this situation has to come first,” Alexei said.

“What about her? What does she think of your having a son?” Peter asked.

His father looked away again. “She doesn’t know. Again, if the relationship isn’t going to work, why burden either of you with…”

“Critical details about the existence of each other?” Peter asked.

“You know she exists. She doesn’t know about you not because I didn’t want her to know but because you are my son. You deserved to know this is going on in my life first,” Alexei said. “She is secondary right now.”

“Papa, that attitude will not get you far with her,” Peter said.

His father gave as close to a full smile as he could get. “You may be right,” he said.

“If she makes you happy, why would you worry what I think?” Peter asked.

“Because even though I’ve not been a very good father, I don’t want to be a thoughtless one,” Alexei said.

“How long since my mother died?” Peter asked.

His father frowned, no doubt because he knew Peter was well aware of that statistic. “Almost sixteen years ago,” Alexei murmured.

“And what would she want for you?” Peter asked.

“For me to get on with my life,” Alexei said.

“I think you have your answer, Papa.”

NaNoWriMo 2015 – Day Eleven

First, my thanks to all veterans on Veterans Day, especially my father, MSgt. Frederick W. Duncan.

Another day of non-writing obligations, but I managed to get in 1,878 words this evening, thanks to my great on-line writing group, Shenandoah Valley Wrimos. We had sprints and challenged each other. Great fun.

That knocked me over 30,000 words; 31,644 to be precise. I’m looking forward to the in-person write-ins on Saturday. I’m sure we’ll get lots of writing done. Sure we will.

No excerpt tonight because my head needs to hit the pillow, but I ended on a good note tonight: a sex scene. Heh, heh, heh.

NaNoWriMo 2015 – Day Ten

Lots of outside obligations today and not much writing, but I did manage 2,264 words for a ten-day total of 29,766. So close to 30,000, so that’s tomorrow’s goal.

And here’s an excerpt from today’s work:

There was something refreshing about coming into an empty house. No questions to answer. No disapproving looks. She tried to feel sorry for Finnoula O’Saidh but knew Roisin would put her in charge of something appropriate. As long as it wasn’t Mai’s life, Mai was fine with whatever sinecure Roisin provided Finnoula.

Someone had been taking in the mail, though, but a note in the Library from Roisin explained that. Roisin had remained behind for a few days. Mai went through the house. No sign of Roisin’s having stayed here, and for that she was grateful.

Mai had started up the stairs with her bag when the front doorbell rang. She hesitated for a moment and smiled as she remembered she now had to answer her own door. My, didn’t that feel all grown up?

She didn’t expect to see Travers Brent there, but, then, she hadn’t called him the next day after the dinner fiasco, had she?

“Oh, god, Trav, I’ve been too busy to call. I’m so sorry,” she said. She stood back, opening the door wider for him to come in.

He stepped in, gave a look around the foyer, and stood for a moment in silence.

“So,” he began, as Mai closed the door, “has the cad won?”

“I’m afraid he has. I promise I was going to call you to have lunch. I wanted to tell you that much face-to-face,” she said.

The smile he gave her was genuinely sad. “Old girl, I think we would have been good together. Perhaps not at first, but we’d have grown into it.”

“That’s a horribly old-fashioned attitude, Trav, and one I’m not much in favor of. And, Trav, I know about your father’s money troubles,” she said. “I know that’s what it was about.”

“It was, indeed,” he said, and she hadn’t expected the honesty, “but I did discover I do like you. A great deal.”

“And you became likable, too.”

“But nothing more than that?” he asked, his smile even sadder.

“No, nothing more than that,” she replied.

“Well, then, I suppose we can’t call him the cad anymore, can we?” he asked.

“I’ll keep it in reserve, just in case,” she said.

“Excellent idea. Well, I stopped by to ask you to dinner, but I’ll just keep that in reserve.” He smiled at her, a nice smile, lighting up his handsome face. “Just in case.”

They shared a laugh, then a hug, and a light kiss, Mai breaking it off when he became insistent. She stood in the doorway and watched him jog down the steps to the Bentley with his driver waiting at the curb. Poor Trav, she thought, knowing it wouldn’t be a Bentley but a paddy wagon he’d be riding in next.

NaNoWriMo 2015 – Day Nine

I know you’ve heard the expression “phoning it in,” meaning you’re so detached or uncaring you do a superficial job at work or relationships or, in my case, writing. My NaNoWriMo word counts were good over the weekend, but all I could think about was a snarky email from someone with whom I serve on a volunteer board. I’d sent an email without his “permission,” and I found my psyche back in freaking middle school. So, my writing probably reflects that attitude, but that’s the whole point of NaNoWriMo: You write now, in the moment, and you refine it later.

Then, bless Facebook and its endless streams of memes, because one resonated with me today:

The only people who are mad at you for speaking the truth are those people who are living a lie.

Keep speaking the truth.

You see such things sprinkled all over Facebook, and, mostly, they make you want to gag, but this? This brightened my day. I wish I’d seen it on Friday when I got my ass chewed as if I were an adolescent.

And today I was much happier with what I wrote, all 3,365 words of it. Oh, it still needs badass editing, but at least it flowed easily and seamlessly. I wasn’t forcing it past negative feelings put in my head by someone living a lie.

Today’s word count brings my total to 27,502, well past the halfway mark on Day Nine. It’s kinda downhill from here, in a good way.

We’ve had angst and tension and multiple does of sappiness, so today we have our female protagonist being a bit of a badass herself in this excerpt:

“I’d like my desk,” Mai said.

Roisin scurried from behind it, and Mai thought she might like being in charge once she turned twenty-five if so few words could get people scurrying. Mai seated herself at her desk as O’Saidh came in with the tea tray, which she settled on a butler’s table near the desk.

“Shall I be mother?” she asked.

“Leave it for now and sit. Both of you,” Mai said.

The two Irishwomen exchanged a glance but seated themselves in the matching chairs before the desk.

“How was your stay with Sir Travers?” O’Saidh asked.

“Why would you think I was staying with him?” Mai asked.

“Well, the lovely dinner, and then you were gone. I just assumed…”

“Will there be an announcement soon?” Roisin asked.

“An announcement of bloody what? My engagement to someone I’ve been seeing for six bloody weeks?” Mai said.

“You’ve known him a lot longer than…”

“And hated his guts. If you’d delved deeper on him, and I know you looked, you’d have found he’s practically tapped out, keeping up appearances, and looking for a wife who could bail him and his father out of their shady deals,” Mai said.

Roisin’s spine stiffened to the point Mai thought she heard a crack. “Actually, I did know that, but his family is a good one…” Roisin said.

Mai laughed, and Roisin frowned.

“What?” Roisin asked.

“Nothing. Watch the news in a few days. We’re not engaged. We were never going to be engaged. I’m twenty years old, and I’m not interested in providing heirs yet. Enough about Travers Brent. Now, on to why I’ve called you here.” She shifted her gaze to Finnoula O’Saidh. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I expect a truthful answer. If you’re not truthful, I’ll be able to tell, and in the mood I’m in right now, you do not want to lie to me. Understand?”

“Of course, but…”

“A few days before I was supposed to go to Paris for my birthday, did Alexei Bukharin call here?” Mai asked.

Finnoula and Roisin again looked at each other. “Finnoula!” Mai said. “Don’t look at her. I asked the question. You answer me.”

Both women blinked, though Mai could see a hint of a satisfied smile on Roisin’s lips.

“Did he?” Mai asked.

Finnoula clenched her own fingers until her knuckles were white. “Yes, he did. You weren’t here.”

“Did he leave a message for me?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Why didn’t I get it?”

Finnoula didn’t break eye contact, and that made Mai’s anger ease somewhat. “Because I threw it away,” Finnoula said.

Mai looked at Roisin. “That came from you, I suppose,” Mai said.

“No,” Roisin replied. “It was Finnoula’s idea, but I supported it.”

“Why was it any of your business?” Mai asked.

“Because you are our business, in every iteration of that word,” Roisin said. “Your mother would want someone to keep you from making such a mistake.”

“Why? What’s wrong with Alexei Bukharin? He’s not Irish?”

“He’s shady, for one thing,” Roisin said. “I know that when I see it, and he’s much older than you. He’s Russian, for God’s sake.”

“Actually, he’s an American,” Mai said.

“Well, worse.”

“Here’s something every O’Saidh needs to understand,” Mai said. “I’m my own person. I decide whom I sleep with, and if it turns out to be a mistake, it’s mine to make and learn from. Inform the rest of your family that where I’m concerned, they need to remember you bloody well work for me. It’s not the other way around, and, by God, if this interference in my life doesn’t stop, when I turn twenty-five and claim my CEO birthright, I’ll find some way to unravel the O’Saidhs from the Maitlands, if it costs me every penny I have. Am I clear?”

Roisin didn’t hide her admiration at all. Well, damn, Mai thought, if throwing a hissy fit would have accomplished this earlier, what was I waiting for?

“Of course,” Roisin said, echoed by Finnoula.

“Finnoula,” Mai said, “you’re going back to Ireland with Roisin. Roisin, send someone else to be my personal assistant. If this one doesn’t work out to my satisfaction, I’ll hire someone from a service.”

“That won’t be necessary, Mai. Someone suitable is available,” Roisin said.

“Actually, why don’t you send me several possibilities, along with resumes. I’ll decide,” Mai said.

Roisin smiled even wider. Bloody hell, the woman was proud of her.

NaNoWriMo 2015 – Day Eight

A mad dash back from Richmond so I could get to the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Waynesboro for Sunday service and lunch afterwards. I missed my local region’s write-in at JMU’s Rose Library, which has a Starbucks in it! But I spent the afternoon and early evening writing. In between watching the NASCAR race, of course.

Today’s word count: 2,606, and an eight-day total of 24,137. So close to 25,000, but I didn’t have 863 more words in me.

So, I’ve upped the angst and the tension. Today, I upped the sappiness:

“How long have I been out?” he asked.

“About twelve hours,” she said. “You have to have an operation. Your ribs are pretty bad.”

“You’ll stay?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, then added, “Jinksy’s orders.” She saw his eyes shift to disappointment. Well, damn. Nelson had said he could get morose. “By the way,” she said, leaning closer. She pressed her lips against his and said, “That’s from Nelson.”

“I’d prefer it was from you,” he said.

“This one’s from me.”

She kissed him again, let her lips linger. His moved beneath hers, parting slightly. The roughness of his beard reminded her of the first morning they’d woken together, and finally it was a pleasant memory here.

Mai broke off the kiss. “They’ll be in soon to get you ready for the surgery,” she said.

“Tell me something before they do,” he said.

Mai frowned and said, “What?”

“That you believe I called and left a message with O’Saidh.”

“I’m almost there.”

“How far is almost?”

“More than half. I need to close the loop with O’Saidh, but here’s the thing. Why didn’t you call the broker in Paris and cancel the reservation?”

“Because I barely had the time to call you before I had to leave. I’d pre-paid, and since I thought you weren’t going to show up, she would never have known we weren’t there.”

“I still had the key.”

“She probably would have contacted me at some point about that,” he said.


“I have friends who are women, whom I haven’t slept with. Look, you’ll have to update Nelson on my condition. Ask him.”

“He’s the reason I almost believe you. Look, Alexei, they’ll be in soon. Let’s get this over with, and when you’re better, we’ll talk some more. All right?”

“All right. What did you do with my overnight bag?”

Of all the things. “It was at my house, but I brought it here this morning. Why?”

“There’s something in it for you. A small package wrapped in green paper. Open it while I’m being cut up,” he said.

“I’ll wait until you’re awake,” she replied.

“No, please. I want you to have it. In case…” He broke off and gave a one-shoulder shrug.

“Look here, mister, there is no ‘in case.’ You’re going to be fine,” she said, feeling the sting of tears again.

His eyelids drooped, but he managed a smile. “Lady Fisher has declared it so,” he murmured.

“If necessary,” she said. She started to put the oxygen mask back over his nose and mouth.

“One more kiss,” he said.

“You’re incorrigible,” she replied.

She kissed him and put the oxygen mask back in place.

NaNoWriMo 2015 – Day Seven

Good thing I had several 3,000+ word days earlier in the first week of NaNoWriMo because today took me hours to eke out 1,747 words. Lack of sleep last night, a long day today, and I wasn’t terribly productive, at least for my own standard.

The good news is I made it to 21,531 total words, almost halfway!

A brief excerpt tonight, with the tension ramping up:

“And all I could think about while I sat there in Paris wondering where you were was what your ex said to me, and even though you think you’ve explained that to your satisfaction, she certainly didn’t portray it that way,” Mai said.

“I told her before she left that she was welcome to make me the bad guy. I guess she did,” he said. “Normally, when I’m coming through Heathrow, I keep a better eye out for her.” He gave her a very Alexei-like smile. “I suppose I was distracted,” he said.

“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Mai, you have to tell me. Are you sleeping with this Brent fellow?” he asked.

Mai disengaged her hand from his and sighed. “No, I’m not.”

“But that was going to change tonight, wasn’t it?”

“He thought so, but no,” she said.

He studied her face, frowning slightly. “Were you playing him?”

“Bukharin, you are not read in on my work,” Mai said.

An alarm sounded on his monitor, and Mai studied it. His temperature was 102.9.

“I can’t see the monitor,” he said. “What is it?”

Mai laid her palm on his forehead. “You’re burning up,” she said.

A doctor and a nurse came in, the doctor freeing a stethoscope from his lab coat’s pocket. “Let’s have a listen to your chest and check for a little pneumonia,” he said.

The doctor flipped back the covers from Alexei’s chest. The nurses had stripped him down to only his briefs, and now Mai could see the extent of the bruising on his right side. The boot-print plus numerous fist-sized bruises covered half his chest. Mai gripped the bed rail and couldn’t take her eyes off the bruises. She felt the brush of Alexei’s hand against hers, and she shifted one hand to squeeze his. She looked up into his eyes, and she almost gasped.

For the first time since she’d known him, she saw emotion there. Alexei Bukharin was scared to death.

NaNoWriMo 2015 – Day 6

All writing today was done in the evening because of a weekend trip, but it was a productive evening. The couple of Jack and Cokes at dinner may or may not have had anything to do with it.

Today’s word count: 2,380. Total to date: 19,784. No excerpt today, but the tension is building to a breaking point, let me tell ya.

More tomorrow because I’m hoping to break 20,000 words this weekend!