It's Week Two of #Maynia and I've barely written a thing -- woe! 😂

Turns out it's harder to host a contest and participate in it at the same time as homeschooling, parenting, housekeeping, everything. I'm all alone at the moment; my partner is in the US and didn't make it back in time before borders closed, so it's just me and the child, alone together. Driving each other crazy. Trying not to strangle each other.

HAHA.

He goes back to school on Monday, thank goodness. But if he so much as has a sniffle he'll have to stay home. Every time he clears his throat his teacher is going to be giving him the eye. He had allergies before schools closed and that was enough to get him sent home. 🙄 So this is going to be interesting. I predict maybe a 35% attendance rate for him. 👀

So, during the first week of #Maynia I managed to write a total of 5,619 words.

Out of those words there were a few things I really liked though! Let me share a couple:
 

Blair’s face was on fire, his eyes as dark storm clouds as they shot imaginary lightning bolts into her face.

“What in the seven hells do you think you’re doing?” he yelled. “The Great Fungus is coming! Toilet paper is gonna be hot, hot, hot! I can’t have you and your boyfriend messing it all up, playing love-castles in my perfect aisles.”

Jenny blinked.

“He’s not my boyfriend; he’s my housemate…”

“I don’t need to hear about your love-life!” Blair screeched. “Get the hell out of my store. Both of you are banned, banned! Don’t come crawling to me when the great Fungus takes over and you need groceries,” he paused, took a deep breath as though to calm himself, then screamed in a pitch so high it set tinnitus ringing through her ears, “Get out, get out, get out — you’re fired, get out!”

“…and then the goat ate my wife!”

Jenny blinked as her ears tuned into a conversation on the television.

The Noon News was on the small television, the screen flickering intermittently. A frantic man paced back and forth in front of the camera, wringing his hands as the reporter looked on.

“Sir, did I hear you correctly? The goat ate your wife?”

“My poor Milly! She’d been feeling poorly, feverish, sweating more than a pork sandwich slathered in gravy, then she died — she died!” he wailed. “She took one last breath, one last shuddering breath as I held her in my arms, then her skin! It erupted in this green fuzz. And then this jerk,” he pointed an accusatory finger at the dopey looking goat standing at his side, muzzled like Hannibal Lecter. “This jerk,” he repeated. “Raced up the stairs faster than a goddamned bullet and started to eat her!”

I particularly like the goat bit. 😂

I'm not too sure how much more I'll actually be able to write. Of this story anyway. This always happens to me when I start writing a decent amount and not just a freewrite -- I get the urge to go back to my roots and stare at my unfinished trilogy.

Lyria and Cael are calling me again. Poking and prodding me with their swords. Making puppy dog eyes at me. Whimpering. "You promised us that this would be our year... LAST YEAR!" they cry.

So I'm going to try and write as much as I can of their story while the urge actually strikes me. Joey is my inner child fighting to escape, Jenny is my bitchiness reigning supreme, and Lyria and Cael are my babies who must be nurtured and loved when they peek through the veil and remind me that they exist.

As long as I'm writing -- that's the main thing! I haven't done enough of that for months and months
now.