500 Word Challenge Chapter Two

500 WC Chapter Two
Word Count: 507

What had he done?

Colton stared into his cup of coffee, trying to divine the reason for his madness.

He couldn’t blame it on the explosion.

Yes, he could.

No.

He shook his head, setting the mug down with a sharp click on the marble counter top. He closed his eyes, trying to ease the dull ache behind them.

Mrs. Savage.

He laughed grimly to himself. Two words he’d never thought he’d hear spoken in his house. He went to the window, looking over the smooth lawn, the garden. It was a beaming, beautiful day. Already the air conditioner was on, promising a hot afternoon.

“Mr. Savage,” the housekeeper said cheerfully. “Can I fix you anything to eat?”

“No, Rosa. Thanks.”

“Alright.” She said with a sniff. He growled to himself. The problem with having a permanent household staff is they started acting like family.

“Mrs. Savage is looking better than I expected.”

Colton grunted noncommittally.

“She is very pretty, isn’t she?”

Colton was of two minds about this, so said nothing.

“Dreadful, them thinking she had a hand in this!” the woman continued blandly. Rosa Grego loved to talk. “Why, she saved your life! And who knows how many others! She is so very brave. Simply dreadful,” she repeated.

“Yes.” Colton said evenly. He left before she could extol on the woman’s virtues any further.

His mood was not brightened when Mancini showed a man into Colton’s office.

“Mr. Savage.” Mancini murmured gently. Colton looked up from his laptop, scowling.

“What?”

“This is Dr. Tuilin.”

Colton stood, shaking the man’s hand. “What can I do for you, doctor?”

“The embassy sent me, Mr. Savage.” The man said softly. “I am to examine you and…Mrs. Savage.”

“Why?” Colton asked warily.

“You have experienced a traumatic event, Mr. Savage. The ambassador is concerned for your mental health.”

Colton snorted. He was himself, after yesterday. “I’m fine.”

“Protocol, sir. May I proceed?”

Colton waved him to sit, dropping back to his own chair.

Colton had heard all these questions before. He answered simply, explaining what had happened, how he felt about it. Tuilin nodded finally, capping his pen. “Thank you, sir. Is Mrs. Savage well enough to take some time for me?”

Colton shrugged. “Wait here. I’ll find her.”

“Of course, sir.”

Colton stood, gratefully escaping. Even if he wasn’t traumatized by it, it still made his skin crawl thinking how close to death he’d actually been.

He found Mancini in the kitchen, writing up a menu.

“Where’s…” Colton cleared his throat. “Where’s Renee?”

“I will get her, sir.” Mancini assured him. Colton gave up the task gratefully. He only had to wait a few minutes under Tuilin’s bulging eyes before she knocked at the open door.

“Ah, Mrs. Savage.” Tuilin said, rising to shake her hand. Colton watched as she blushed furiously, bemused. “I must ask you some questions, ma’am.”

“Yes,” she agreed, sitting.

Colton listened absently, feeling like he should leave, but not wanting to. He pecked at his keyboard, trying not to watch too closely.

500-Word Challenge Chapter One

Here's the first chapter of my 500-word scene story.  The male lead is named Colton Savage.  How fluffy summer read is that? :)

Also a disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about Spain, its government, police force, or anything.  The Spanish National Football Team had just won the World Cup when I started this.  I needed a foreign country and Spain seemed like a good idea.  I also know nothing about international business laws, supermodels, travel visas, marriage laws in other countries, international terrorist interrogation techniques, or having household staff.  Basically, I know absolutely nothing pertaining to the plot of this story and I am making it up as I go.

Enjoy!

E.T.

500-WC, Chapter One
Word Count: 528

“Hey, its me. Don’t worry, I’m fine. The doctors checked me out and everything. Um…so yeah, I got into a bit of trouble…I had to get married. Don’t panic. Everything will be fine. Call me when you get back. Bye.”

Colton jerked awake, sitting up before he remembered he shouldn’t. He groaned, every muscle aching and on fire. He lifted a hand and rubbed his face, feeling the tender places where’d he’d bruised.

Mancini was there instantly.

“Good morning, sir.”

Colton groaned again, sliding to the edge of the bed. Mancini helped him stand, smiling.

“Shut up!” Colton snapped. He stretched gingerly, his joints snapping ominously. He lurched to the bathroom, sighing as the steam already billowing in the shower sank into his limbs.

He felt better once he’d showered, spending most of it standing listlessly under the scalding stream of water. Mancini had his clothes out already. Colton ignored them and rummaged through a drawer, pulling on a comfortable pair of jeans and an old t-shirt. He couldn’t face designer anything today.

He left his room, heading down the long hallway, still yawning and wincing. He paused by a closed door.

“She is up already, sir.” Mancini murmured. “I believe she is in the kitchen.”

Colton grimaced and headed down. There was no avoiding it.

Colton’s doctor was feeling her head when Colton stepped into the kitchen.

“Ow!” she complained.

“Sorry,” the man muttered. “Your stitches look good, no swelling.”

She snorted. He shined a light in her eyes, checking each one carefully. “Headache?”

“Raging.” She clipped.

“And your ears?”

“Still ringing.”

He nodded ruefully. “That will probably last a few days. Take aspirin, get some rest. No loud music.” The doctor saw Colton in the doorway. “Ah, Mr. Savage. How are you, this morning?”

Colton scowled and the doctor chuckled. “Good, good.”

He quickly packed up his things, tucking everything into a sleek brown suitcase. “Call me, if you need anything, or your headache gets worse.”

“Thank you, Dr. Ferr.” The woman said, shaking his hand. Colton nodded and the man left.

The woman watched him, silently. Renee. Renee Savage.

Colton cleared his throat. “I hope you slept well.”

She shrugged, making a face. “I tried. I’m not used to your time zone, still.”

“Yes, I imagine.” He said lamely. Silence stretched between them again. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, thank you.” She touched the bowl and spoon sitting on the table next to her.

“Good.”

Her face was cut and bruised like his, a white bandage on her forehead, covering six little black stitches.

“Are you in pain?” he asked.

“Nothing unendurable.” She said with a grimace. “I’ll live.”

“Good.” He could have kissed Mancini when the man rescued him.

“Mrs. Savage,” he said smoothly, ignoring both of their winces. “Would you come with me? I have a selection of clothing for you to chose from.”

“Thanks,” she said, standing stiffly. She was still wearing her football jersey, cleaned during the night, but ragged. Her jeans had scorch marks on them. Colton stepped out of the way. She looked back once at the foot of the stairs, her frown filling him with foreboding.

BOY!!!! And other stuff...

Husband and I are having a boy!  The Muffin is scheduled to be here mid-June, so expect me to be out of action right around then. (Like I've been super posty recently...eye roll).

And there is no doubt about Muffin being...ahem... male.  He was wiggling like crazy all during the ultrasound exam.  (He's wiggling around right now, btw.  He never seems to stop.  Joy).  Right at the end, he flipped around and we got a beautiful picture of his butt cheeks and his...you know.  Definitely a boy.  I'll save it to embarrass him with one day.

Excited!

In other news, I'm still in a writing dearth.  But I do have a very silly, fluffy story that I started a while ago.  I set myself a couple of challenges on it.

First, each section was only to be 500 words.  I know, right?  How could I, Madame Verbose-a-lot, keep each scene to 500 words?  It was hard, but I did okay, though some 'scenes' cheat a bit.

Second, I wanted it to be in the 'summer read slightly incredible romance' category.  Nothing too serious or realistic.

It's very silly.  It doesn't have a name, so I'll just tag it 500-word or something.  I'll put up the first 'chapter' tomorrow.

Enjoy you're weekend!

E.T.



Plotting Ideas

So, I've been in a dearth of writing the last few months.  I really feel much better, except for when the muffin decides to kick me in the stomach.  That is not so fun.  But I'm still arid of ideas.

Lucky me, my dreams came to the rescue.  I had a very long, involved dream about an archaeological dig. So I decided to go with it.  Why not?

Here is where I ran into my first troubles.  One, I don't know anything about any real archaeological digs.  Two, I decided I wanted to set it in South America.  I didn't want to do anything with Egypt or biblical lands.  That's been done a lot and kind of infringes on Indiana Jones/Mummy/Tin Tin territory.

Then I decided I wanted it to be post WWI but pre-WWII, mostly because the twenties were a raucous time all themselves and also to avoid the 'Nazis as bad guys' plot - see Indiana Jones note above.

Since I have no idea about anything happening in the South American ancient burial sites scene during the twenties, I did some google searches to see what I could come up with.

Mostly: nothing.  Seems nobody cares about early 20th century South America.  There was tons of stuff about the conquistadors.  And 'South American Explorers' always came up with Lewis and Clark or the American Southwest.

Then I found this guy, Thomas Athol Joyce.  He wrote a bunch of books about South and Central America, all published before 1923.  So, anybody who would be digging about in the dirt in the twenties would probably have read some of these. (now they are downlaodable as ebooks.  Joy!)

So now it looks like I will have to read them to know what my character peeps would now. Right after I finish reading about what a dork Napoleon was.

Sky's End

I submitted this in the 2011 Writer's Digest Short Story Competition in the Horror catagory.  It did not win anything, which is a bummer.  But I am glad I wrote it.

I was trying to capture a sort or surreal quality, where the main character doesn't really know what is going on or how much time is passing.

The original idea sprung from the desire to write a zombie story from the perspective of a zombie.