Day 18 of NaNoWriMo Wordcount 31,155/ NaBloPoMo (18 for 18)
Mondays at home are so much better than a Monday at the office – I remember them well. Although on my last job before retiring I worked from Tuesday thru Friday, so I missed out on those manic Mondays.
Writing is going smoothly. I’m ahead of schedule and characters are shaping up, and I’ve written the last chapter which is so thin it’ll take considerable fleshing out when I get there next week some time.
Excerpt from Murder is a Primary Color:Jade
The reflection in the mirror looks odd to me. Every now and then, I seem to go to the extreme. The black-haired reflection wore black every day now, be it a cat-suit with cloak, a skirt with leggings, shoes and/or boots, jeans and a black silk poets blouse, with no relief save a save a belt, now gold, now silver around a waist so slender, the glint of precious metal small relief for such a somber canvas.
Men lean toward fast and flashy cars; women go for clothes or in extremis, the hair. We cut and color arrange and rearrange, swear we don't care and begin again. I wonder though at our battle with gray and everything else. Why should it be a battle. I want to reach out and embrace nature. Right now the wheel has not yet reached darkest night.
Last night was Winter's reminder "not yet, my turn still". The old woman won't let the maiden hurry her along. We need them both. We are them both. The trinity of woman is maiden, woman, crone. We celebrated our trinity openly before the Christians stole our days and ways and renamed them for their own purpose; before they pointed their collective finger and declared all that is natural vile and evil.
Because the matriarchs of the Wyse would not bend knee nor submit to inferiority, would not be quiet or still knowing what we knew. And one by one they slew us and others making weapons of their god's name and driving it into innocent's hearts. Yes one by one in the thousands they slew, and far too few flew. We hied to cover and nurtured our own and our ways and now we are strong again in numbers and powers as the new age dawns and we look at the Christian's trail of blood as we hear the earth in throes of agony for the harm done her. Our time is coming again. When it does, we'll sort through the rubble and heal where and how we can.