A pretty good month, I think:
Three guest blog posts = 3 points
12,945 words written = 5 points
5,000 words edited = 1 point (I actually edited the same words twice over, but I'll just take the one point for them)
Giving me a total of nine points, and making for a happy Koala.
And now for an excerpt from the month's writing:
Heirs and Graces, July 1966
"Rupert needs a father. One who will be present, not one who just sends him money."
"I agree." That was what he'd been working towards for the past three years, ever since he'd realised that the child was his no matter how unusual the conception. "It just might take a little more time than I'd anticipated."
The front door opened and then closed.
"Let's discuss that later. Isn't it time I said hello to my son?"
Consolata got to her feet, and rather grudgingly ushered in the new arrivals.
"Hello, Rupert." Standing, Edward forced down an unaccountable wave of panic. Rupert had no way of remembering his father from before, but he had no reason to reject him either.
"Go and say hello to your father." Consolata addressed the boy in Italian.
He looked up at his nanny, still gripping her hand.
"Go on." Nanny spoke to the boy in English, glancing to Edward as if wondering what her next instruction might be, and from which of them it would be issued. "It might be a little overwhelming for him at first, but he'll understand whichever language you choose to use."
Edward knelt, resting his shoulder against one arm of the sofa. How did one talk to small children? He should have paid more attention when visiting Elaine and the other estate workers' wives.
"Hello," he said again. A toy hung limply from Rupert's hand. "What's that you've got there? D'you want to show me?"
Rupert looked up at his nanny again, then let go of her hand.
"Papa?" He took a step forward.
"That's right." Edward decided to stick with English for this conversation. "And who's that?"
"Dog." Rupert marched forwards, holding out a rather battered black object.
"Ah, a Scots Terrier, if I'm not mistaken." One of those little yappy dogs that Hugh always hated, but that Edward had a secret affection for, in small doses. "Does it have a name?"
"Dog." Rupert dropped the toy, scrambling onto Edward's knee and then prodding at his tattoos. "Bird."
"So it is." Edward moved so his other arm was supporting the boy, and in the process covering up a couple of artworks that needed a little too much explanation. "Do you know what kind of bird?"
"Swallow. Close enough, I suppose. You'll have to ask your mother what that is in Italian." He shifted again, so Rupert's finger rested against a shooting star. "Now can you tell me what that is?"
Lots more snippets over at the July entries for picowrimo.
Hopefully I'll have the story finished very soon so I can tidy it up and then go back to Searching for Julia.