West's mouth went dry as the head of the flower twisted towards him and unfurled like a hungry mouth. A crawling feeling made him look down. He yelped and jerked back against the car seat as roots like worms crawled onto his dress shirt. They writhed, trying to dig through the fabric to his skin. The plant grew, and grew, and grew. Vines curled like snakes. A thorn sliced into the skin over West’s pounding heart. Yelping, he pried the plant off of his chest and threw it onto the opposite seat of the limousine. It turned towards him and spilled over the seat. It crept forwards, ravenous flowers seeking to devour, and West was the sun.
I'm a sucker for poetic turns of phrase. I'm actually trying to avoid writing this kind of stuff right now. It takes forever to get through a paragraph, and I have a word count goal.
But it's so fun...
And I didn't feel much like writing this weekend. Milwaukee is on an evening curfew and Black Lives Matter has never felt more important, but I feel impotent. I'm wavering between having major characters in my book be people of color and am struggling to make that more meaningful than superficial.
As part of writing Unfinished Business, I'm participating in the #ROW80 challenge. Since Wednesday, I worked on the prologue and chapter 1.
Goal: 25K by end of challenge Progress: 9.2K