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Hello Readers! Happy Sunday!

I can say that I have pushed myself up and over that 50k mark on this draft. Things are moving right along with the WIP. Granted they aren’t moving at a pace I prefer, but they are moving forward. I have a weekly goal of hitting 15,000 words during the week. The reason for this being that I wish to hit 75k by the end of the month. That is a stretch of a word count for me as I only came in at 65k last month. However, I know I can hit it, and I’ve come out swinging the first week of march. We will see how the rest of the weeks turn out for this month.

Admittedly sometimes choosing a snippet to share with all of you can be difficult. I want it to be a great snippet where it wets your pallet for the entire novel while not giving away every major point in the novel. As so many of you enjoyed Frank last week I will share with you another Frank moment for this week. As always it is completely unedited, and my eyes have been all to fall on it so please be kind.

©Misty Harvey 2016

This is how it went on, and on for hours. Brief conversations with most of them, occasionally a chattier one would find their way in, and we’d talk while I signed. Mostly they told how much they loved my twist on old creature features. You’d think after all of these years that I would have known I was doing a twist on old story ideas, but I’d never heard it before. Apparently the praying mantis one was the last straw, and now people were speaking up. I didn’t actually know the cause, but that was the only reason I could think of.

The smell of dusty books filled my lungs. I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat. A pen poised in my hand as I lifted my head to look right into the face of the same man that had sent me into a tailspin in the interview.

“Can I help you?” Kayla had returned to my side in time to see the man approach. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but after what you did in the interview, I’m of the mind to have them throw you out.”

The man’s hauntingly pale blue eyes stayed focused on me for quite some time. He turned his head, looking directly into Kayla’s. I could hear her suck in a breath, but she didn’t move.

“I’m here to get a signature from mister fancy pants here.” The man turned back to me. He picked up one of the large hardbound books and dropped it right in front of me. It landed with such a clatter that the attention was back on us once again.

“Your name?” I opened up the book, rubbing my hand over the front of it. Luckily the act didn’t reveal just how much my hands were trembling in those moments. There was something about this man that unnerved me.

“Frank. Frank Wright. I’m surprised you don’t remember me.” Dirt clogged up under his longer nails as he tossed a black card with red writing onto the top of the book page.

“I’m sorry. Have we met before?” I lifted up the card. Frank Wright, Leading Demonologist. That was it. Those were the only words I had to read before it all came flooding back to me. The barrier I’d worked so hard to put into place had disappeared, and memories long since buried came flashing to the surface.

I remembered my father and a much younger version of this man. They’d be picking up various odd tools into leather suitcases. Old leather bound books would be piled in other cases. My mother trembling and crying in the hallway. Her voice hoarse as she’d spend the last hours screaming at my father that he needed to retire. That one day he’d see something that he wouldn’t be able to unsee, and it would make him not right in the head.

Flash forward many years later and there sat my father. A ragged shell of himself. Wrinkles covering his face. His hair now ghostly white. Thick stubble across his face. Slumped in his favorite chair in front of the small black and white television. His eyes unfocused as he stared straight ahead. In his right hand would be a glass of whiskey, and he would be dressed in a white tank top, nd over-sized pants that dwarfed him. His skin hung on his frame as he’d taken to not eating much at all.

If I disrupted whatever was in his thoughts he’d yank his belt free, and I’d pay the price. I even remember times where my mother had mistakenly taken my spot in the punishments as well. Those years of being a demonologist had turned my father into a dark man. Charles had a wild temper, a hair-trigger switch for punishment, and demons inside. Demons that had consumed him.

As usual to change up the pace, here are some of my other writing friends if you’d like to sample their work.

Skate on over to V.L. Locey‘s blog to read a delicious hockey romance.

Slide on over to Cat’s baseball romance.

The battlefield has been chosen, and some will die. Trek on over to Ellie‘s blog for a taste of valkyrie fantasy.

Remember L.O.L. (Live it, Own it, Love it) or it isn’t worth doing.