I had this post all ready to go, but came home to a surprise in the mail. A draft copy of Sins of a Father was in there. I was pretty stoked, until I found a few little things that need fixed (so far). It’s a weird feeling having a book you wrote in your hands. My wife is reading it now and she wouldn’t let me go to sleep last night because she wanted me to tell her what happens in the rest of the story. I told her she’d have to keep reading to find out.
Second sidenote: Zombie tree is available in many formats now- not just Kindle. Check out the links to the right to pick up your copy.
Ok, on to the post now. This is going to be the last Winger drabble for awhile. We’ll call it a season finale. I’m going to keep up with the Fictioneers, but not using Winger. There is logic behind my decision. I’m going to try my hand writing a longer Winger story for NaNoWriMo and don’t need 2 different Winger storylines confusing me. The Winger drabbles will likely resume in December, or after the first draft of the longer piece is finished, whichever comes first. The Winger drabbles come much later than the NaNo story. To make it to the story told by the drabbles I’d have to write probably 3 or 4 other novels after the first one to get to the point where the drabbles pick up. It may happen. It may not. We’ll see how this one goes first.
In all likelihood I won’t finish the Winger novel in November with it being my first NaNo attempt. I still have a few days, but I feel like I’m not quite prepared enough, though I do have an outline ready to go. Finding the time to write that much in one month will also be a bit of a challenge, but you never know unless you try, right?
If you’re doing NaNo and want to buddy me, my username is adamickes. Very original, I know. Anyway, without further ado, on to the “season finale” of Winger:
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and to the lot of you for reading.
Broken (The Winger Chronicles : Part 11)
The slippery rung dug into her armpit. Her fingers clung to her jeans to lock her body against the ladder.
She didn’t move upward again until the orange-brown goo had hardened back into a crusty coating. Even still, her aching hands had trouble gripping the rungs.
As she reached for the next hold, her foot slid from its place below. Tipping backward she screamed. Her fingers grasped at the empty air.
The rope went taut and threatened to pull Winger from the ladder as well. Painful fire radiated from his injured arm, but his grip never wavered.
Below, she cried.
I feel I should explain how the story relates to the prompt this week because it might come up. It was more obvious, but that part got edited away. The more indirect take is that Liv’s spirit is broken, much like the keyboard.