Chapter One. Really.
Abby Richmond’s ancient, two-toned station wagon shuddered to a stop in front of the dust-covered windows of the Temple Street Coffeehouse, and the Newfoundland beside her sat up and barked.
“Bowser, I think we’re in trouble,” Abby said, peering through her windshield at the old building. “It doesn’t look like much of an inheritance.”
Bowser tried to lumber to his feet, but even in a full-sized station wagon there wasn’t enough room for a full-sized Newfie, so he settled back down again, looking up at her with his dark, gentle eyes.
“Yeah, I know, you need a patch of grass and something to eat,” Abby said. “The lawyer said there’s a place to park in the alley around back. Let’s reconnoiter.”
No, Really, We’re Done
The second revision letter came back with about half a dozen minor fixes and we fixed them. Lani’s getting ready to update the site. I’ll post the first chapter shortly. It takes a while because it has to be formatted by hand–argh–but it’s coming. And I’ve got the much improved Shar collage which I will post a picture of as soon as I find either my iPhone or the recharger for my camera. I’m in the middle of a massive remodel and I can’t find anything. But I’m looking.
So stay tuned. Things will be up here, swear to goddess.
But the good news is, our editor thinks Dogs and Goddesses is “a 100% amazing, stellar, funny, heartwrenching, sexy, powerful, soulful book.” We like it, too.
Oh, and Krissie made the New York Times list with her new book Fire and Ice!
And now we’re rewriting
We got our editor’s comments back and we need a new beginning. Major revision of the first act. Mostly my stuff (ARGH) but three new scenes up front.
I think it’s nice that we’re posting all the revisions. You can see how we pounded our heads on our keyboards AS IT HAPPENS.
CHAPTER ONE - Scene 1, Shar
Here it is in all its glory, as a reward to you loyal men and women who’ve watched us struggle through the birthing process.
Shar Summer opened the heavy doors to the storeroom of the Summerville College history department, pulled her reluctant black and gray long-haired dachshund into the dim interior with her, and stopped when she saw five women and their dogs sitting in a semi-circle of chairs around a platform stacked with old file boxes. They looked like they were worshipping some ancient goddess of archives.
CHAPTER ONE - Scene 2, Daisy
Some of you may notice that the man who used to be Jamie is now Noah. It started out as just a need to limit the names with the -ee sound at the end - we had quite a lot - and turned into a new layer of depth on the character. But it’s still the same guy… mostly. 
Enjoy!
“Bailey, heel!”
Daisy jerked on the leash as seventeen pounds of Jack Russell terror dragged her to the grassy patch behind the step temple, aggravating her tiny person’s complex. It was hard enough being four foot eleven without losing a tug of war to a dog the size of a Cabbage Patch doll. She leaned back and dug in her heels, trying to balance her purse, the ceramic bottle, Bailey, and her sanity.
“Heel! Heel! Heel!” Something snapped under her left foot. “What the– HEEL!”
CHAPTER ONE - Scene 3, Abby
Here, you’ll notice how the dog that once was Beastie became Bowser. Another casualty of the -ee sounding names. Still, the heart of the dog is the same. He didn’t much care what we called him, long as he got fed.
Abby took another gulp of temple tonic as she maneuvered her aging station wagon down the tree-lined street to the math building. She didn’t know what was in the stuff but it was giving her a shot of energy that she needed. She’d been on the go non-stop since she’d arrived in town that morning, trying to find out more about Granny B. Maybe Professor Christopher Mackenzie could provide some of those answers.
Bowser was flopped down on the seat beside her. “Hungry,” he growled, and Abby swerved, almost hitting a PT Cruiser.
She looked down at his massive head. “Tell me you didn’t speak.”
Silence, of course. She set the ceramic jar of tonic down on the seat. So maybe she was more tired than she thought.
Done
Well, the truck draft is done. If we get hit by a truck, SMP can publish it without rewrites.
But now our editor Jen gets to weigh in, and she is a genius.
We’ll post chapters here in the next week so you can see how it’s changed.
But we’re done. Very tired, but done.
Starting All Over Again . . .
The big problem with rewriting a late draft is that you’ve looked at it so many times, you’re not even sure it makes sense. When one of those scenes suddenly becomes a turning point, you have to look at it again, have to find fresh eyes.
Things We Learned This Week
1. It’s very hard to write while shopping.
2. It’s very hard to write while eating at iHop and Steak N Shake.
3. It’s very hard to write while watching DVDs and Project Runway.
4. It’s very hard to write while crocheting/knitting/quilting.
5. It’s very hard to write while laughing your ass off.
6. We shouldn’t laugh at Bob for e-mailing from the upstairs bedroom since at one point we were all in the same room using Campfire.
7. I have to put in that second bedroom upstairs. And an elevator.
8. The 472nd version of the opening is better.
9. Everybody needs a dachshund, preferably Milton.
10. Never say, “I’ll get up and take them out in a minute” when the oven timer dings for the cookies you’re baking.
11. This sucker is going to be rewritten and finished by the end of the next week since we won’t be together and will actually be able to get some work done.
12. We must do this again very soon.
Day Three? Four? I’ve lost count, really.
Hey, D&Gers. This is Lani, here to say hi and blog about our adventures in Ohioland. Jenny’s home is lovely, and we spent most of yesterday here, only heading out to hit Frisch’s Big Boy. They should really just call it Your Big Ass and get it over with. But YUM! I’ll work it off later. We’ve also been watching loads of the fabulous USA series Burn Notice (watching television releases creative energy… no, really) and knitting and crocheting and talking and laughing - oh my GOD the laughing. It’s a good thing Jenny’s got a private little area here or someone might have called the police afraid America’s sweetheart had been attacked by hyenas.
But no… no such terrible thing has happened. She’s just being visited by hyenas.
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