I’ve been pinging all over the United States the last couple months, both for work and for fun. Foursquare alerted me on Monday that I’d been in airports five weeks in a row. Really not an “honor” I was seeking to achieve. However, this month has included authorly shenanigans in Florida and quality time with family I rarely get to see. So… not actually complaining.

Despite being less active online than usual, I’ve been hard at work. The day job is full of big, exciting projects. Then I come home and sink into my current work-in-progress tentatively titled Cloud Nine (you can read the synopsis). I’m in the final third of the first draft, and have officially fallen in love with it. The main character has big-time trust issues, and the events in the book don’t give her a lot of reasons to let people in. She’s trying though. She’s also kicking ass and taking names.

I’m going to share a bit from where I’m working at on the story now. Obviously, this is first draft and will likely get tweaked, but it’s an exchange I like. Since it’s more than 200 pages into the book, I hope it works out of context. Heh.

Declan pried my fingers from the cushion. He held on to my hand. I liked knowing he was there. It steadied me.

I almost wished for those gooey girl feelings right now. Instead I tried to count the fiber loops on the rug beneath my feet, as if the menial effort would somehow dampen the acid burning my insides.

“What are they testing?” I knew I’d spoken. I’d felt the vibration in my throat, but it didn’t sound like me. The words were hollow.

His fingers tightened around my hand. I watched it instead of the floor. I hadn’t believed shock could turn a person white. My skin proved otherwise.

His voice was steadier than mine. “I don’t know.”

My lip started to quiver. I bit it. I didn’t sign up for this. I didn’t want to be the big damn hero. Martyr wasn’t all that appealing either. But here’s my design flaw: I couldn’t let things go.