This will be quick. I have approximately 39 hours to convert two steno pads of notes into my novel, B-24. I already have 25 typed pages―single-spaced, no brakes. So, I figure that between what I have already, plus my notes and some elaboration, I should finish with a respectable page count.
But I have only 39 hours to finish. Why only 39 hours? Because I am cats/housesitting while my son and his wife are away and on Sunday morning I have to be back at my house. So my weekend of writing will be over. Of course, within that 39 hours I have to fit in some time to sleep and take care of other necessaries, like the cats. Even in the best of situations there will be interruptions.
But enough of that. No more time to waste―
"When spring did finally come and recovery teams were able to access the wreckage, they were horrified to discover the mangled remains of the three truckers―Shamus James, Tommy Dodds, and Rhune Evans―as well as Oswald the cook. Only partial remains were recovered for Lilly the waitress and two as yet unidentified men. DNA would no doubt reveal their identities, said the sheriff. And that was pretty much it. It was a terrible, terrible accident resulting from unseasonably bad weather. No, the coroner couldn’t explain how they all died or ended up torn open and mutilated. But they had no reason to suspect foul play, none at all."
Pique your interest? Mine, too.
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