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Work week in review
Long, rough week
and today took the cake.
NINE transmissions. At one stop.
And an engine.
Even with a pallet jack, that's well over a ton, and some serious work.
Topaz has been edited and re-edited.
Thank you all for the help.
A small reward lies under the cut
Dakota Territory, 1887
The streets of Williston bustled with the energy that only a trading town in its first growth has, an excitement rivaled only by the boomtowns of silver and gold.
Williston had neither. Rather, it sat where the Yellowstone and Missouri Rivers met, a crossroads for trade among settlers and trappers, foresters and the local tribes. The trading post and a loose collection of houses had sprung up when Fort Union was built. The town proper had officially been chartered about a year before and many of the buildings were so new their boards still oozed pine sap from the haste with which they'd been erected.
Matt hated it on sight. It was going to be a prosperous little place, the sort where a man could make an living without half-trying if he was in the right trade. He preferred the wild lawlessness of Dodge City or Tombstone.
But those cities were long behind him and even a gunslinger got old. Pistols were a young man's game and he was nearing forty.
Handsome as ever, his smile, and its attendant dimples, still made men check up on their wives. His wavy brown hair was just showing the first gray and his hazel eyes were capable of going lethally cold over a gun. Unlike almost every other man on the street, he wore no pistols.
Santa Fe Jack had shot him in the leg last spring down El Paso way. He'd got the bastard, but during those long nights of healing, he'd decided to hang up his guns and settle down. When he hung them up, it meant all the way up. The pearl-handled Colts resided at the bottom of his saddlebag, and he had no bullets for them. Getting shot once was enough for him, and he'd have the scar and weak leg for the rest of his life.
Now autumn found him in Williston, of the Dakota Territories. As he limped into the Land Office, he saw a pretty red-haired girl twirl her pink parasol and wink one big brown eye at him. Maybe he'd stick around.
Now for a synopsis and it's ready to send.
May is a time of finishing.
Shell-Shocked (my erotic gay pagan inspirational romance, with the PTSD vet and the amputee)
Lord Edward and the Curse of the Pharaoh's Manicurists
Fractured Fable
Ellora's Caveman
etc
And just because I love it:
see more crazy cat pics
and today took the cake.
NINE transmissions. At one stop.
And an engine.
Even with a pallet jack, that's well over a ton, and some serious work.
Topaz has been edited and re-edited.
Thank you all for the help.
A small reward lies under the cut
Dakota Territory, 1887
The streets of Williston bustled with the energy that only a trading town in its first growth has, an excitement rivaled only by the boomtowns of silver and gold.
Williston had neither. Rather, it sat where the Yellowstone and Missouri Rivers met, a crossroads for trade among settlers and trappers, foresters and the local tribes. The trading post and a loose collection of houses had sprung up when Fort Union was built. The town proper had officially been chartered about a year before and many of the buildings were so new their boards still oozed pine sap from the haste with which they'd been erected.
Matt hated it on sight. It was going to be a prosperous little place, the sort where a man could make an living without half-trying if he was in the right trade. He preferred the wild lawlessness of Dodge City or Tombstone.
But those cities were long behind him and even a gunslinger got old. Pistols were a young man's game and he was nearing forty.
Handsome as ever, his smile, and its attendant dimples, still made men check up on their wives. His wavy brown hair was just showing the first gray and his hazel eyes were capable of going lethally cold over a gun. Unlike almost every other man on the street, he wore no pistols.
Santa Fe Jack had shot him in the leg last spring down El Paso way. He'd got the bastard, but during those long nights of healing, he'd decided to hang up his guns and settle down. When he hung them up, it meant all the way up. The pearl-handled Colts resided at the bottom of his saddlebag, and he had no bullets for them. Getting shot once was enough for him, and he'd have the scar and weak leg for the rest of his life.
Now autumn found him in Williston, of the Dakota Territories. As he limped into the Land Office, he saw a pretty red-haired girl twirl her pink parasol and wink one big brown eye at him. Maybe he'd stick around.
Now for a synopsis and it's ready to send.
May is a time of finishing.
Shell-Shocked (my erotic gay pagan inspirational romance, with the PTSD vet and the amputee)
Lord Edward and the Curse of the Pharaoh's Manicurists
Fractured Fable
Ellora's Caveman
etc
And just because I love it:
see more crazy cat pics
no subject
Sorry to hear you had a rough week. I hope May is full of finished stories.