Greetings ladies and gentleman. Christmas is fast approaching and I almost forgot to post this. Between preparations for the holiday (plus two birthdays) and my fibro hitting me hard lately, it's hard to keep track of everything.
But, the tree is up, the presents are wrapped, and here I am typing so no worries.
Before I post my eight I want to take a moment to thank those who read and comment. It means so much to writers to get feedback on our work. Even just a few words can literally make our day. So thank you for reading, and a double thank you for those who comment, review, email, etc.
Now on to the Eight! By popular demand I am continuing where last week's snippet left off in Chapter 5:
“Jack? Is that you?”
Jackson gritted his teeth. He hated it when people called him Jack, and strangers in his personal space calling him that was a particular pet peeve of his. “Pizza delivery!” he called out, training his gun on the direction from which the voice had come.
“But I did not order any, oh!” The petite blonde stopped at the sight of a gun aimed at her head. She put a hand to her heart and slumped against a wall, the red satin of her negligee riding up her thigh as she leaned.
*************************
That's my eight for this week. I'll see you around the internet between addressing Christmas cards and baking cookies. And if we don't connect between now and then, Merry Christmas, Blessed Kwanzaa, Happy New Year, and a lovely whatever else you care to celebrate.
Kate
But, the tree is up, the presents are wrapped, and here I am typing so no worries.
Before I post my eight I want to take a moment to thank those who read and comment. It means so much to writers to get feedback on our work. Even just a few words can literally make our day. So thank you for reading, and a double thank you for those who comment, review, email, etc.
Now on to the Eight! By popular demand I am continuing where last week's snippet left off in Chapter 5:
“Jack? Is that you?”
Jackson gritted his teeth. He hated it when people called him Jack, and strangers in his personal space calling him that was a particular pet peeve of his. “Pizza delivery!” he called out, training his gun on the direction from which the voice had come.
“But I did not order any, oh!” The petite blonde stopped at the sight of a gun aimed at her head. She put a hand to her heart and slumped against a wall, the red satin of her negligee riding up her thigh as she leaned.
*************************
That's my eight for this week. I'll see you around the internet between addressing Christmas cards and baking cookies. And if we don't connect between now and then, Merry Christmas, Blessed Kwanzaa, Happy New Year, and a lovely whatever else you care to celebrate.
Kate
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