You see that little winners stamp up there? The one that says “Greetings from NANOWRIMO Winner 2011?”
Yeah, that’s right, baby! I made it!
I finished my 50,000 required words with eight to spare. (Yes, I was cutting it close, but it has been a busy month and a frantic week).
There were a moments in the last few days when I despaired of making the goal. But I trudged on, went without sleep, completely ignored Captain Cavedweller except to bark orders like “I need more chocolate!” and “Can you please cook dinner?” and came out a winner in this inspiring contest.
Don’t ask me what it is about having a website full of people hold you accountable, but it really does spur you on to do what you’ve claimed you will do!
I’m putting this novel aside for a few weeks to let it rest, to let me rest, then I’ll go back to it, do my revisions, have my proofreaders work their magic, then have it ready for you to read in a few months.
Thank you to everyone who offered their encouragement and support. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it!
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Since telling you the name of the novel could be a bit of a spoiler, I’ll leave you with an excerpt:
“You in position, Mad Dog?”
“You ready to do this?”
“Bring it on.”
Mad Dog Weber was one of Seattle’s finest detectives in the narcotics division. A cop for 10 years, Mad Dog was well respected, on top of the game, and seemingly fearless.
Now, sitting on the curb outside a seedy dive near the waterfront, watching the back door and waiting for the signal to move, no one would know they were looking at someone who offered firearm training to many of Seattle’s newest police force members. Face smeared with dirt and clothes covered in filth, reeking with the stench of sweat and booze, no one would get close enough to notice the .45-caliber Glock handgun covered by the rumpled newspaper held in a grimy hand or the ear piece hidden beneath stringy hair and a moth-eaten stocking cap.
“You can still back out,” a deep voice badgered over the connection.
Mad Dog muffled a snort. “Right. Cause that’s how things roll with me.”
Devin, Mad Dog’s partner of four years, laughed quietly, “Don’t I know it.”
“Just shut up and get ready,” Mad Dog whispered, looking down at the ground as a drunk wandered by, keeping both eyes hooded, but alert.
Once the drunk wandered around the corner, Mad Dog got up and pushed the rickety shopping cart filled with a homeless man’s treasures closer toward the back entrance, keeping the newspaper covered hand on top of the cart.
This stake out was more than just an opportunity to nab another bad guy. Zeus was a thief, drug lord and murderer. Mad Dog wanted nothing more than to see him brought to his knees begging for mercy. Dreams of pulling the trigger and driving home the bullet that would end his miserable life had been a constant, haunting companion since Zeus had made things personal. Six months ago, he shot down Mad Dog’s own mother in cold blood.
Mad Dog was ready to return the favor.