Snippets Change Sometimes

Last Friday, I posted a snippet of Up Wish Creek's first chapter over at Killer Chicks.  Last night, I revised that bit.

Here's what you saw last Friday:

It had been about a month since the shitstorm blew through and I turned a portion of North Florida into glass.  And there I was sitting in my library, trying to interrogate a book.  My ex-lover, who betrayed me, was nowhere to be found.  Not that I’d had time to look.  Which was probably for the best because I was so ready to kick his olive-brown ass. The last time I saw my dog he’d been transformed back into a gorgeous genie, and he was panting after the only surviving twin goddess of a long-extinct Nubian tribe.  My conniving former best friend was still a bitch—literally—and sleeping curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace.  But the more things change… Well, let’s just say things were working the way they’d always worked.  Life as a genie is long, but hey, unless you really work at it, it’s not boring.

Sometimes I wish I put forth the effort.

“Did the book tell you anything yet?” The only constant in my life, the right-proper Basil Hadresham shouted from another room.  He was my business partner, decades-long friend, and genie extraordinaire.  And he’d spent the past thirty some odd years keeping my life on an even keel.  Even if he did have a bad habit of bellowing through my home like a kid who’s too lazy to grab a snack from the kitchen.

“I heard you,” I shouted back because I was too lazy.  “And the answer is no. Did you get anything out of that damn dog yet?”

Basil entered my library with the dog in question trailing behind him.  “The bitch is being bloody difficult.”

She will tell you nothing, appeared across the blank page of the book in front of me.  Just as you will learn nothing from me.

“And here I was thinking you’d want to brag a little,” I said back to what was, in reality, a former genie who’d chosen to become an Efreet.  Since genies can’t apply the death penalty the way Efreet can, Amun got sentenced to spending a good long while as a smart-mouth, uptight, pain in my ass book.  I’d taken a bit of shit for going off-script and making him reading material instead of the family pet, but, hey, he deserved it. 

Here's what it looks like now:
 

About a month had passed since the shitstorm blew through and I turned part of North Florida into glass.  My ex-lover, who betrayed me, couldn’t be found anywhere.  Not that I’d bothered to look.  Probably the best thing for both of us, because I would kick his olive-brown ass, if I ever caught up to him. The last time I saw my dog he’d been transformed back into a gorgeous genie, and he was panting after the only surviving twin goddess of a long-extinct Nubian tribe.  My conniving, former best friend was still a bitch—literally—and spending her nights curled up on the rug in front of my fireplace.  And there I was sitting in my library, trying to interrogate a book. 

The more things change… Well, let’s just say things were working the way they’d always worked.  Which was to say, dysfunctional.  With extra funk.  Life as a genie is long, but hey, unless you really work at it, it’s not boring.

Sometimes I wish I put forth the effort.

The only stable constant in my life, the right-proper Basil Hadresham shouted from another room.  “Did the book tell you anything yet?” My business partner, decades-long friend, and genie extraordinaire had spent the past thirty some odd years keeping my life on an even keel.  Even if he did have a bad habit of bellowing through my home like a kid who’s too lazy to grab a snack from the kitchen.

“I heard you,” I shouted back because I was too lazy.  “And the answer is no.”

Basil entered my library with a scrawny, beige pooch trailing behind him.  He looked like a forty-something British barrister, all tweed-covered and balding with a paunch that would make any Cornish wife proud.  In reality, he looked like a young and sexy Michael York, heavy on the Cockney and light on the stodgy. But we all wear the costumes we must to hide who we really are.

Hell, I made myself look about twenty years older than I really was.  And I would age a little every day until I faked my own death and started over with a brand new face.

“Did you get anything out of that damn dog yet?” I asked.

Basil laced his fingers over his ample belly. “The bitch is being bloody difficult.”

She will tell you nothing, appeared across the blank page of the book in front of me.  As you will learn nothing from me.

“And here I was thinking you’d want to brag a little,” I replied to what was, in reality, a former genie who’d chosen to become an Efreet.  Since genies can’t apply the death penalty the way Efreet can, Amun got sentenced to spending a good long while as a smart-mouth, uptight, pain-in-my-ass book.  I’d taken quite a bit of guff for going off-script and transforming him into reading material instead of the family pet, but, hey, he got what he deserved.   

And that's what writers do.  You know, when they aren't writing new words.  I spent 3 hours last night doing stuff like that to the first 30 pages.  Today, I will try to get the rest of the pages done.  As long as my eyes and my will to live hold out.  LOL

That will probably be as close to out the door as you can get.  Unless my editor looks at that and tells me something's wrong somewhere.  Fingers crossed. 

Now, back into the editing cave.