Peregrine Arc: An Author's Scratchwork
There was something about a grand neglected house that didn’t bode well for visitors. It wanted retribution for its fall…
We’re celebrating Memory Bound’s one year anniversary this October! Check out the book here to find out more about Anne, the Myrons and the little world I created. You can read it for free if you have Kindle Unlimited.
Cheers and pass the cider, wouldn’t you? Ker-kaw! 🥃
Well, Arcians, I’m stepping out onto the proverbial literary edge here. I have a fitness goal for October: bicycle every day in the month for a minimum of 30 minutes. That’s right, 31 days x 30 min = around 15.5 hours of my tush on the cush. I’m ready…I think.
Writing goals: write at least one solid chapter of my novel, GOTD. I’ve been really struggling with writing; ever since my laptop went kaput, my motivation and confidence seemed to go along with it. My protagonist has literally been stuck inside his burning house for about four months now and is glaring at me, vehemently, from offstage. I can’t say I blame him. The chapter is like watching a Roomba try to vacuum an octagonal room: we’re going to be here for awhile.
What are your goals for October? Want to join me on the fitness journey? Leave a comment below and we can drag each other over the finish line. I’ll even have Mr. Swinebotttom do an uplifting cheer. It’ll be great fun.
Oh, P.S. This has happened to me, twice (see below image). This tells me I’m doing this cycling thing really great, or really badly. Yes, that’s a broken pedal. And yes, I didn’t think it was possible either. I pedaled the pedal off, if you will. Straight off. Twice. Lock your doors at night; I’m a mad woman. 🚴♀️
Ker-kaw!
We were walking down the street of an affluent neighborhood, having just gotten our Starbucks to keep our peepers open for the evening beat: a PSL for the Saint and a hot mint tea for me. It was the type of joint where people didn’t lock their bicycles in front of the stores and the want ads of the local newsletter sold comfort, security and false promises of legacy to the aging population.
My partner and I were passing the neighboring ice cream store when my eyes landed upon a wad of cash laying on the sidewalk. I picked it up, counted it: a ten and a one. No money clip. Hmm, not much cash for the folks running around here. We considered turning it in to the ice cream shop’s lost and found when we spotted a group of young girls gaggling together, about 30 feet away as the crow flies.
Continue reading “Author: “The Case of the Missing Money” (Humor)🕵️♀️”
A.R. Clayton 