Okay, I know we just had a long holiday weekend. And, given I sent my submission in at 9:30 the Tuesday night before Thanksgiving, pretty much none of the days last week after I sent my story in ‘count’ as business days.
Doesn’t make me any less anxious or nervous that nearly a week has passed and I haven’t heard anything.
The good news is Noble Romance is known for fairly quick turn around time, roughly a week, sometimes two.
I just need to try to convince myself NOT to over analyze the delay. Or rather convince myself there hasn’t been a delay.
Clearly not doing a good job.
So, as I pace, a little snippet from my current WIP. Tentatively titled Maya’s Mom, this is a rough draft of a flight scene. Enjoy and excuse the poor grammar I may have missed on my quick check.
And I’ll get back to writing and *trying* to keep myself occupied.
The sour alcohol smell grew. Aiden grabbed the edge of his shirt and lifted it to cover his mouth and nose. Realizing, then dismissing, that her belly would be bared, Averill did the same. They rounded another corner. Ahead a set of metal doors sat askew on their moorings, crookedly overlapping in the middle and leaving the gaping holes in the upper corners. Aiden let go her hand to pull one open enough for them to get through. Her bare feet slapped on the concrete floor.
They’d left the store and were in an open three story warehouse space. In neat lines, row after row of what looked like old-fashioned moonshine stills sat. Their piping coiled in improbably high swirls and springs. The tubing defied gravity with a grace and lightness bespeaking folk manufacturing more than the green fires still sparking in several hearths.
Whatever folk had been attending to the brewing were long gone. More than one copper pot was knocked over, the sparkling liquids coating the floor and making the air redolent with alcohol and magic. Eyes watering and trying not to breath too deeply she followed Aiden as he detoured around the various richly colored puddles. He clearly headed to the far side.
They were near the half way point when the ear numbing whine of metal scraping against metal echoed across the room. She glanced over her shoulder. A huge, hairy half-man, half-bull stood at the entrance. He shook his shaggy animal head and batted his fists on his chin. His arms were powerful, but too short for his hands to reach his face. Averill turned back. A harsh bellow, followed by the crash of machinery and a shriek resounded through the room.
A loud hiccup sounded behind them accompanied by pounding hooves.
Aiden sped up, no longer avoiding the liquid. Soon they were both spattered from the hips down, the magic infused liquid’s paint like thickness and colors creating tie dye effects.
And there, there was the door.
The handle was closer to Averill. She let go Aiden’s hand and pulled the door open when they reached it. A wave of fresh, cold, damp air hit her.
Along with the overpoweringly musk-laden scent of pissed off werewolves.