…so it must be Camp NaNoWriMo time. I’d love to be as disciplined as my friend, misspollyanne and work on revising a project while at Writers’ Cafe.
For now, this will be a precarious sharing of the slow progress towards 30,000 words, or the 1k-a-day plan plus extra. And today, I’m already behind the 8-ball. Sometime this week, I’ll create the page for this project.
Title: Yet Again
Characters: No idea – it’s begun first person and I usually *hate* first person (unless it’s a book written by Dick Francis, who is a master at it!)
Plot: What plot?
Word Count: 275
First came the letter in the mail addressed to a relative long gone. No, not dead, just gone – to where, no one knows. I think that was what made it the worst day of my life, a solicitor’s reminder of whom I would not see for a long time.
Second came the phone call from a relative who was probably broke – again. Only time they ever called. New York City has ‘Cash Cab’ and I’ve got ‘Broke Bloke.’ Not exactly a fair deal there. And yes, I fail to say ‘no’ every single time.
Third – because you know bad things happen in threes – came the notice that my landlady was selling the place. No warning, no inquiry as to whether or not I may have wanted to buy it, just the courtesy 30-day notice.
Could be worse – I could be auditioning for one of those chalk outlines on some procedural cop and lawyer show, like the one that broke Gunsmoke’s record.
Rent in the city proper was going to kill me anyway, so perhaps Mrs. DuPont did me a favor. Could go and see what I can afford in Queens. Was never living like a king anyhow. And since I have to head out, I can finally say ‘no’ to that broke brother of mine. Maybe forward him this stupid letter.
Yet again, I’ll probably do what I always do – every single time.
At least there’s warning about the impending move. I’d better be careful about who I call for help, because you can never know what kind of crap they will be packing in when you are trying to move out.