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I haven't posted pieces of a writing project in a long time, and the settings here on Dreamwidth have changed. I guess I'll just have to get reacquainted. Anyway, I spent some more time on my newest project, and I have a piece of Chapter 2 down. It's hard to get enough time scraped together, uninterrupted, to do any writing at all. I've been too tired to commit to any focused thinking once the kids are in bed, and I don't have the self-discipline to get myself up any earlier than I already have to just to write. So, put simply, this project may take a while to complete. On the plus side, I did some great thinking in the shower this morning and worked out an intriguing plot that I think will hold water. So without further ado, here is my introduction to the as-yet-untitled new Probe fic:
Tristan Tollman had in no way been misrepresented to Mickey. He was every bit as entertaining, as adventurous, and as attractive as she had been promised. Deep brown eyes with a mischievous glint over a lopsided smile and topped with a shock of lush brown locks curling over his collar and ears gave him a youthfulness belying his thirty-four years.
He was exactly Mickey’s type.
She didn’t mean to do it, but she stole the barest glance at her watch while her date had his head safely turned away, summoning another round of drinks from their server. Mickey's tawny ringlets of bangs lifted off her brow as she dealt them an impatient huff. It was just 9:30 on a balmy Saturday evening in August, and already she was prowling her imagination for an excuse to call it a night.
Why? She had every reason to celebrate the end of a grueling week with a little lightweight fun. Tristan was just the fix. Listen to him now, detailing his last trip to Catalina, of windsurfing endlessly from mid-morning, all day, until the last crimson tendrils of twilight succumbed to inky dusk. This was a man accustomed to the nightlife of the beach scene. He knew frozen margaritas concocted with fresh key lime and the best Baja-brewed tequila, the throbbing of steel drums until the party collapsed to sleep near dawn at somebody’s beach house, lulled by the crashing surf outside.
But Mickey’s mind was elsewhere, and the cause of it rested squarely on Austin James.
Tristan Tollman had in no way been misrepresented to Mickey. He was every bit as entertaining, as adventurous, and as attractive as she had been promised. Deep brown eyes with a mischievous glint over a lopsided smile and topped with a shock of lush brown locks curling over his collar and ears gave him a youthfulness belying his thirty-four years.
He was exactly Mickey’s type.
She didn’t mean to do it, but she stole the barest glance at her watch while her date had his head safely turned away, summoning another round of drinks from their server. Mickey's tawny ringlets of bangs lifted off her brow as she dealt them an impatient huff. It was just 9:30 on a balmy Saturday evening in August, and already she was prowling her imagination for an excuse to call it a night.
Why? She had every reason to celebrate the end of a grueling week with a little lightweight fun. Tristan was just the fix. Listen to him now, detailing his last trip to Catalina, of windsurfing endlessly from mid-morning, all day, until the last crimson tendrils of twilight succumbed to inky dusk. This was a man accustomed to the nightlife of the beach scene. He knew frozen margaritas concocted with fresh key lime and the best Baja-brewed tequila, the throbbing of steel drums until the party collapsed to sleep near dawn at somebody’s beach house, lulled by the crashing surf outside.
But Mickey’s mind was elsewhere, and the cause of it rested squarely on Austin James.
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Date: 2014-02-04 06:29 pm (UTC)From:That's a great start, and I like your original character so far, even if Mickey's too distracted to pay attention to him. :) Good character building, there!