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Sunday, March 10, 2013

Writing Update: 3/10/13

Wow! It's been a very productive week. My last report showed 24,000 words written, and this week I'm pleased to report that total is up to 36,300. That's a total of 12,300 words in one week! An excellent week, especially as my weekly target is 10,000 words.

NotDone is now 90% written and the first draft is on track to be completed this week. As I've done several times before while writing previous books, I'm going to publish a snippet from the book. The snippet is raw and unedited and probably contains all sorts of grammatical errors, but this way you get a chance to read some raw Paul Dorset before it gets out into the wild! I hope you enjoy it and next week I'll be back with another progress report.

Effy and Chelsea continued through several other corridors, turning occasionally downward, until at last they came to an open platform. “The acres,” said Effy, nodding at a sign on a door in front of them. “Shall we?”
Chelsea whistled and they waited until the door was opened from the inside. “A body,” Chelsea said, gesturing with her head at the boy they were carrying.
“Name?” asked an older woman, maybe twice Chelsea’s twenty-five years.
“Chelsea Penrose,” replied Chelsea.
“Looks like a boy to me.”
Chelsea laughed. “No, my name is Chelsea.”
“What do I need your name for?” the older woman replied. “I need the name of the boy.” She turned her head to one side and spat something wet and bright red onto the ground.
“We don’t know the boy’s name,” Effy interrupted, trying to get their job over with as quickly as possible. “We got him from up top. There was an explosion and he was killed. The Highs sent us down with him.”
The woman shook her head and licked her lips, displaying an array of darkly-colored stained teeth. “No name. That’s not done, is it?” She pulled the door fully open and turned back inside. “Ethel, Loo, come here. We got a no-name. Some kid too.” She sniffed as she waited for two other old women to arrive. “You can leave him here,” she said to Effy and Chelsea. “We’ll deal with it. He’s not going to make much compost is he? Oh well, that’s the way. We get what we gets.” She took a step toward the boy and looked down at him. “Just a shame he ain’t got no name though. I like to put a label on the compost we send up top.”

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