Co-writer back in the saddle.

Back on my birthday, I posted that my co-writer for my/our original novel wanted to quit. Well, we actually worked things out in relatively short order. After re-reading the final draft for Book 1, she decided not to quit our partnership.

So, yay! Because it would’ve seriously SUCKED to be alone on this.

We’ve been editing Book 2 since the beginning of March, whilst still searching for representation for Book 1. And interspersed with writing an SPN fanfic together this month, because we both need an occasional break from our own ‘verse. (She’s currently writing Dean’s voice, and I’m writing Sam… because I’m good with bookish-nerdy characters and she knows how to bring the snark.)

The SPN fic is titled “The Devil’s in the Details.” It takes place in several towns in NJ, is during Season 3, and a major scene is right in my hometown of Point Pleasant. Here’s an unedited taste, with the Winchesters trying to get to Point:

The sun trekked across the sky and the Impala trekked across the asphalt faster, the hours passing. Dean had enjoyed the drive, as he always did, having occasionally sung along with the radio and whatever tape he happened to randomly grab out of the box. Several more snack wrappers had been thrown into the backseat and upon the floor by this time as well. Now as they got closer to the coast he looked to Sam. “Alright Sammy where am I going? I got take the next exit, right? That’ll take us to Point Pleasant?”

Sam nodded. “Yup, exit 98. That’ll take us to Route 34 South..” A slight pause as he flipped the creased map open… “…which will become 35. Then once we go over the Manasquan Bridge, we’ll be in Point Pleasant Beach.” He scanned the map a little more. “We have to go through Point Pleasant Beach to get to the Borough of Point Pleasant.” He frowned. The Jersey folks responsible for the town planning were not going to make it easy, were they?

Dean’s brows lofted in vague amusement. “Wow. I’m glad you’re here to navigate. With all that I’d’ve ended up goin’ in circles, trying to figure out where the hell I’m headed and drive at the same time.” He then shook his head. “I guess for every ‘first house on the left’ you gotta have a ‘zigzag 1.2 miles, turn right, hop up and down, take the elevator to the third floor and then pinch your nose’, right?”

The grin he gave was mischevious, as it usually was.

Sam laughed. “Don’t forget to pat your head while rubbing your tummy.”

“And quite possibly click your heels too,” Dean added, still grinning. As they approached the needed exit he guided the large car off of the freeway and onto the meandering ramp, letting his foot of the gas as the vehicle easily rode up the slight hill and simultaneously slowed down. The blinker kept time as they waited to turn.

“Ya know, I was thinking,” Dean began, easing the car ever so closer to the older model Jeep before them, “If we’re gonna be running through the jungle I do not want to be caught with our drawers down like with that damned wendigo. I think we should stock up on supplies, on stuff other than whatever it’s gonna take to gank these creepy kiddies.”

He finally pulled onto the main road with ease, following the sign that directed travellers to route 34. They then began to travel south. “Maybe we can find one of those mountain man stores, or an army surplus.”

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Mostly, I write stuff. And, like the Egyptians and the Internet, I put cat pictures on my walls. Also, I can read your Tarot.