That short story is turning out to be not so short after all. I’m not sure if it’s because my protagonist is a retired school dinner lady in her late sixties with a tartan shopping trolley, or if it’s because I’m looking for a cosy-ish smell to the whole thing. Either way, it’s 2,865 words long already and I’m only just getting to a juicy violent bit.
Plus the whole trying-not-to-swear thing is a bit odd. I’ve already had to prune out some of the more fruity sayings, and I keep finding the characters coming out with the most obscene rants. I think I’m going to have to start writing about a much better class of person… Mind you, no one’s picked their nose and eaten the results yet, so maybe they’re not that bad.
Anyway, enough of the underpants of doom – it’s time to get back to work!