And apropos, tonight when Sprout asked me for a story from my mouth*, I came up with something that pretty much flowed in true storyteller style. (Despite liking to write out stories, I'm not particularly gifted at off-the-tongue tale-spinning.) It is a story, I told her, that will take many nights to tell; and that seemed to encourage--or play to--my novel-writing jollies.
I decided to write it down but made the mistake of not getting to it right away. Which means I've lost all the fresh and spontaneaous flow. Tomorrow, I'll try to do better a better job typing it straight after the telling.
Still, have a writing snippet, the first from me in I-don't-know-how-long:
"Well done," Ms. Grimson said. "One would never know there'd been... Right, now, back to your bed quick-like. And Hannah, word of this will never leave your lips."
Hannah shook her head and dropped her scrub brush into water than had turned dingy pink. She fumbled for the bucket handle, but Mr. Fob stopped her. "I'll dispose of that. Obey Ms. Grimson at once."
Hannah sketched a curtsey to his turned back and hurried toward the door. As she was about to leave the library, a curious thing happened: A book glimmered at her. Shelved at eye-level, bound in faded purple cloth, it had nothing particularly special about it. But she was sure the whole thing, not just the tarnished golden "4" stamped on its spine, had glimmered with an internal light. The book stuck ever-so-slightly out of line as if inviting her to take it. And Hannah, though she had never stolen a thing in her life, knew she would.
* Sprout's code for: Make up a story for me