An altogether good day

First, brekkie by the sea.  Then J lovingly and obliging took S to run some errands so I could stay and write.  Got lots of scene cards written before someone mistakenly told me the wrong time and sent me home in a rush, fearing J was stuck at home with a starving baby.

Second, a delicious lunch of fresh mackerel, common whelks, homemade mayo, sauteed aubergines (eggplant), and mashed sweet potatoes, most of it prepared by the aforementioned loving, obliging man.

I then read a charming little book called Oracle Gretel,* sent to me by the generous asakiyume.**

After which, I did a couple of sketches. I've now sketched consistently for a week. Don't want to jinx myself, but the habit feels like it is back. :)

When S woke up from her nap, we went for a walk in Saint Jean de Luz and had supper together before J had to catch his train back to Bordeaux.

S went to sleep of-so-easily, and I shall now do the same. Who knows, I might actually make it to bed before 11 if I hurry off now. 

Bonne nuit, LJ!

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* by Julia Rios, aka skogkatt, illustrated by Erik Amundsen, aka cucumberseed.

** Thank you, thank you, thank you for sending this little gem to me. J and S haven't read it, one being busy with Egypt stuff and the other too young, but they both greatly appreciated the pictures. :D

Snippet Sunday

Alas, did not make it to bed before 11, for lo, it is Snippet Sunday, and I had to post something.

From book 2 of the Witherwilds trilogy.

Lelo scooped up the pieces of the vial, angry tears blurring her vision. She squeezed the fragments so hard, she cut her palm; blood trickled to the floor. Wishing the evidence in her hand was as easy to wipe away, Lelo smeared the blood into the flagstones with her heel.

By the time she reached their crowded rooms, her mother was passed out on the couch, her stash of euphoria scattered on the cushions and reed mat at her feet. Head buzzing with rage, Lelo watched her mother’s chest rise and fall with heavy breathing, the dribble of saliva trailing down her chin and neck, the hand that twitched reflexively between her legs. Part of her wanted to scream and shake her mother awake, make her admit she was a liar, a selfish weakling who cared about no one, who couldn’t even keep a simple promise. 

Hands curling into fists, Lelo imagined shaking her mother, slapping her, clawing sense into her, until her mother cried and took her in her arms and hugged her tight, so tight, and promised, swore on Lelo’s own life that she would never ever, ever even look at another vial of euphoria.