|Beth's Sashiko block|
ROW80 Check-in: Despite life's distractions, so far this week's going pretty good.
- I'm 600 words on my way to this week's goal of 1,500 on Rivers of Stone. Posted a review for Annette Drake's A Year With Geno, a sweetly entertaining romance.
- Tonight I'm running a workshop on "Building a Writer's Toolkit" (for newbie writers) at a local bookstore. Not sure how many folks I'll get (more about this after the workshop on the writing blog), but we'll take a hands-on approach with self-assessment, skills and platform-building. All in 45 minutes.
- So far, also, I'm still keeping up with reading about 10 other ROW80 posts each week, swimming 3x a week, and working on those baby quilts (cut out 257 blocks on Monday).
Wednesday WIPpet: But now for the fun. It's August 20th, so what else could there be but 8 paragraphs for the month of August?
Excerpt, Rivers of Stone: It's 1842 at the York Factory in Upper Manitoba. Dougal and his brother, Colin, have left on the Fur Brigade Express, leaving Cat, still disguised as a boy, behind to work at the Company depot.
Cat slumped on a log at the top of the hill in front of York Factory. The first snow had dusted the mud with white, yet loaded canoes still came up the Hayes River, bringing natives with packs of fur to trade, the natives hoping to beef up their winter provisions before the ice made travel by river impossible. It had been a long day of counting, arguing with Jacob, and dreading the night. Sunday wasn’t so bad, nor was the Clerks’ House with its younger occupants, but York Factory was quiet with the voyageurs gone.
“Cheer up,” MacKenzie had said. “They’ll be back in the spring afore you know it. Besides, we’ll have lots to do over the winter. You’ll learn how to use the fur press before yer brothers come back to rescue you. Then Jacob will stop pickin’ on yer scrawny butt.”
She was used to seeing polar bears. They didn’t come too close to the outer palisades of the Factory, unless they were hungry. The great white beasts loped along the returning ice, hunting seal. Sometimes they would crawl behind great chunks of ice and sneak up to an air hole, then plop down on the ice shelf and cover their noses. They were invisible as they waited for a careless seal to come up for air.
Idly, she watched a black dog track through the marsh grass. No, it was a wolf pacing out along the mudflats toward the bay. He was hunting a bear. The bear ambled along slowly, upwind, unaware of the wolf behind him. The wind changed and the bear’s head, almost pink in the fading sunlight, swung around. The bear huffed and charged towards the wolf, but the wolf broke into a lope, racing head first. Cat was mesmerized. Why wouldn’t the wolf run away? The bear could kill him with one blow of his massive paw.
Suddenly, the bear turned and lumbered towards the Bay.
“That bear’s maybe afraid the wolf has friends. They hunt in a pack, you know.” Jacob sat next to her on the log. “A wolf pack can take even a big polar bear down.”
“Did you ever see that?” asked Cat.
“Bear Face told me,” Jacob said.
|Polar Bear (Wikipedia)|
Read what other WIPpet writers have written HERE. To participate in WEDS WIPpet, all you need to do is post a snippet from your WIP (current work in progress) in some way connected to today's date, and add your name to the links at K. L. Schwengel's blog. Thank you, Kate, for setting up this way to share our wips!