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Wednesday, April 16, 2014

24k on Morgandy MacNeil #1

24k on the witch novel, very loosely inspired by Anita Blake.

Today I discovered the joys of Scrivener's full screen mode, which lets you see your entire manuscript laid out in a continuous stream. I find this incredibly helpful, since it lets me note places that need better/more transitions. Also it blocks out the rest of your screen while you write so you can't answer the siren song of Reddit.

Here's some stuff from the beginning. As always this is a first draft:

“Hey MacNeil, congratulations on making S.W.A.T.”

From anyone else I would’ve thought it was mockery. Women didn’t make S.W.A.T very often (though in my case being a witch definitely gave me a leg up), and when they did a lot of the guys around the department thought they were just there to meet diversity quotas. Probably doubly so in my case considering I was (mostly, close enough for government work) Salish. But it was my partner, Horowitz, and I knew he meant it.

I went over to his desk. It was 2014 but the room still looked like something out of a 1940s cop drama, weathered desks with blotters, lamps that drew hazy circles of light around detectives staying past sundown. Beige phones and clunky computer monitors, though we’d got a minor upgrade on the computers a couple of months before.

Horrowitz fixed me with his pretty black eyes, his golden complexion making them stand out all the more. He had no magical abilities to speak of, no glamours or special aura. He was just attractive in a totally human way, though he didn’t do much for me personally. I could appreciate him and his Greek beauty, though, even if the needle on my sexuality dial pointed the other way.

I detoured to the coffee machine and brought two full styrofoam cups back, taking the chair in front of his workspace. I plunked the drinks down, planting my elbow on his desk and leaning my head in to my hand.

"Glad I’m not in Vice anymore.”

I’d been in Homicide for awhile now, but the S.W.A.T. appointment meant they weren’t going to bounce me to another department unless I did something really stupid.

“Yeah, the hell with that. I never minded too much, though. At least they can’t make me parade around in those tiny outfits.”

“I dunno, man, this is San Fran. One of these days you’re going to be out there on the corner in a banana hammock.”

“Let’s just hope today isn’t the day.” He stood up, putting his sidearm in its holster and tugging his suit jacket on. He picked up the cup of coffee and drained it in a single gulp. I stood up too, drank my coffee the same way, and grinned.

“What, forget to wax your balls?”

He sighed a long suffering sigh instead of answering. I giggled and followed along, doing up my tie.

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