Today I did an 8,900 word novelette, "Coming For Green", in part repurposing some excised material from Green and setting some pins for Endurance.
I loves me some writing.
And a WIP, of course:
The captain sat on the steersman's bench with his hand braced upon Atchaguli's tiller. His appearance was dominated by his moustache, which had colonized his face like a fungus covering the trunk of some fallen forest giant. His cheeks were rounded almost to puffiness, folding into his eyes until they glinted like raisins in a suet pudding. Dark hair swept away from his forehead in a manner doubtless intended to be dramatic, though mostly Sulla thought he looked as if he should have worn a hat before going out into the wind.
"Hello, pretty girl," Padma said. He always called her that, aboard ship. He'd been nervous and fearful on the docks of Kalimpura, but here at sea where his word was literally law, Padma fancied himself a big man.
Sulla knew what happened to big men at the point of a knife the same thing that happened to men of any size, if the knife was fast enough. "Captain." She steeled herself for the usual evasions. "Any new thoughts on Chittachai?" That was the ship on which Green had departed, with no word of any kind back these past months.
|Originally published at jlake.com.|