Happy Wednesday! Last week until yet another summer camp, and this time I’ll be volunteering. So I may take breather next week. Meanwhile, my older child just turned 14! Younger child turns 12 on Sunday. They just had their physicals, and both are nearly done growing. Estimated height for older child: 6’2″. Estimated for younger: 5’2″. They find this hilarious and awesome.
On to the WIPpet. Sigh…this novel is going to destroy me. I’ve been feeling conflicted about my genre and my place in it for a long time, which I don’t think is helping. It’s a long story, probably a whole separate blog post. I’ve talked to a few friends, but I’m no closer to a real solution aside from “finish what I’ve agreed to write and then move on.” Well, yes, but that doesn’t solve the problem of having to write it. This novel is exactly why I prefer writing single POV, but…genre expectations plus the precedent I’ve already set for the series. ‘Nother sigh.
Anyway…this is from the same chapter as the last snippet of Drumbeat. Jamie has woken from a nightmare about running away from his mother’s abusive boyfriend. I’ve mentioned before that Jamie grew up couch-surfing homeless and ended up on-the-street homeless at 15. This is not because he’s gay. I wanted a different narrative from the common “kicked out for being LGBT.” Not that it doesn’t happen, but it’s not the only reason, y’know?
WIPmath: 8/9/2017 = 8 + 9 + 7 = 24 sentences
It happened sometimes, the nightmares of getting away from—what number boyfriend was it again? More than five, less than ten. Jamie had lost count. He was the only one who ever hit Mama. They’d planned their escape for weeks, and even so, he’d nearly caught them. Jamie was lucky he got out with only a black eye and a few bruised ribs.
He’d looked for Mama for ages after that, but no one would tell him where she’d gone. She’d been too afraid to tell him her whole plan just in case something slipped. Months of searching for her, then searching for his father. Surviving any way he could until he got to the Lighthouse, so sick he could hardly stand and afraid it was more than just the flu. He was damn lucky it wasn’t.
Only Sage knew all of it. He was there many nights when Jamie woke, drenched in sweat from re-living the terror of that time. He knew and didn’t judge, just held Jamie until he stopped shaking. Sage wasn’t the same kind of monster. He’d never hit Jamie, no matter what the others thought he was capable of. If he’d ever beaten him, Jamie would’ve been out the door sooner. Or so he liked to think.
That kind of violence wasn’t Sage’s way. Everything he did was softer, gentler. The kind of thing that lulls a person into feeling secure. Even when he touched Jamie in ways that made him uncomfortable, it was always that same tenderness, almost a vulnerability. All fake. Jamie had nightmares about that too.
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