Weds WIPpet and ROW80: Cold toes

Short and sweet check-in tonight.

Thank goodness for Excel in preparing tax info, all that data on sales, shipping costs, unit prices, starting and ending inventory. If I didn't know better, I'd say I was working again.

ROW80 check-in: But since Sunday, it's been a good week. All moves ahead slowly but steadily.
--Making good progress on Sec02 for Rivers of Stone. Almost fell into a big plot hole, but was rescued at the last moment. No cold feet here!
--Actually tweeted an indie writer's new release, Bob White's To Catch A Monster (currently $0.99 cents on Amazon). I've known Bob since 2010 as a very thoughtful critter from NOVELS-L, The Internet Writing Workshop.


Here's today's WIPpet (3 paragraphs for the merry month of March . . . it did snow lightly yesterday) from Rivers of Stone. Context: In 1842, Catriona followed her husband to Upper Manitoba, disguised as a boy to work for the Hudson's Bay Company. He's traveled west on the fur brigade express, while Cat remains behind, working in a fur trading post at York Factory.

Cat sat on a bench outside the cookhouse and gutted the fish with her new knife. Polar plaice they called it. Maybe the last fish the hunters would get before the ice froze so thick they could no longer fish. She pulled the entrails out with one clean move, tossing them to one of the post's many dogs, this one a scrawny wolf mix, not big enough yet to haul a sled. She stank. Her clothes stank. Her nose itched, and she knew if she scratched it, she would smear fish scales all over her face. She rubbed her nose on her upper arm, and her stomach turned over.

Cat glanced down at the fish that somehow had slithered onto her lap, frozen near as cold as the snow nearby. Yuck. Nobody cared about keeping clean here. These men were pigs. If they bathed at all, they splashed water from a bucket kept near the fire to get the blood off from some fight. They never changed their clothing. As the wind blew colder, they added more layers and joked the dirt would keep them warm.

When the men came in late to the Barracks and into the warmth, Jean pulled off his socks to reveal missing toes. Cat thought she would gag. Frostbite. He had laughed about it. Made jokes that he was lucky he only lost a few toes. 

Churchill Ice by Travel Manitoba (Flickr)

As we move to the end of ROW80's Round 1 for 2015, check out what other ROW80 writers are doing HERE.

And drop in to see other snippets for works-in-progress as part of WIPpet Wednesday HERE.  Make it a good week!