A bout with food poisoning, busy work schedule and house (non) sale was enough to keep me occupied last month. On top of that, however, I decided to take ANOTHER crack at NaNoWriMo and the 50,000 word grail. I didn't let anyone know what I was up to this time, because if I missed the mark then only I'd be disappointed. For those not familiar with the game, National Novel Writing Month is just that: Write a novel in 30 days, with 50K being the winning benchmark.
Well, I didn't hit 50K. But early on (or late depending on your perspective) in the process I decided to set a goal for myself. I figured if I could just get halfway, 25K, that would be something. When I pasted my oeuvre in the NaNo validator at 11:45 p.m. last night, it read: 25,119.
Sure there were at least 4 other folks in our OKC circle that went over 50K, but hey, I was happy. An idea for a book finds its way out of my head and into a real manuscript. Not to get too far ahead of myself, it is only a draft, and the finished project will be WAY more than 50,000 words. But it's a start, and that's another of the many NaNoWriMo side-benes.
As a treat, I give you what is now the opening scene in "Deacs."
Deacon Clayton looked out over the ever filling pews.
“Is it me, or this is a lot more folks than usual?” he asked
the brothers seated next to him on the raised pulpit in the dusky church.
Deacon Morris twisted his lips as he scanned the scene. And Bro. Cherry
adjusted his suit coat, looked at Clayton and shrugged.
“I mean don’t get me wrong,” Deacon Clayton chuckled. “I’m
glad people came out for a change. But come on, this is …” he laughed again.
Deacon Morris squinted his eyes as he continued his mental
count. He started over at least 4 times now.
“Yea,” Deacon Morris cooed in his svelte tenor voice, “I was
beginning to think we might actually fill the place today.”
“That’s whaat I’M sayin’,” Clayton replied, rocking forward
trying to stifle a laugh. “For a baptism? This is a lot of people! ” he
drawled.
Deac Cherry leaned slightly forward. “We must be feeding after!”
Then he cackled mischievously.
“Wooo, ha, ha, I was gonna ask the same thing,” Clayton
guffawed. He leaned back in his chair and raised his hands in surrender. “But
hey, if it briiings New Trinity out, that’ll work.”
Three tall brothers ducked their heads beneath the low
balcony overhang at the church’s main entrance, nodded as they took a program
from the usher and then strolled down the center aisle. Deacon Morris watched
as they glided past one row of pews, then another, and then another. And that’s
when it hit him. What had been gnawing at his mind as he’d been counting the
people as they came in. He recognized some of the faces. Many he hadn’t seen in
church in a long while.
“Hey,” he cooed again
to his fellow deacons, “you guys notice anything strange about the front rows?”
The other two gave him a puzzled look before glancing out.
The center aisle split the church in half with each side split again by curved
armrests between the long wooden pews covered with fading aquamarine green
cushioning. The first row of pews bordering the wide moat like expanse between
the pulpit was open, except for a few casually tossed hymnals and bibles and
Deaconess Blackstar’s giant white bejeweled hat.
But the next rows right behind were stuffed, on both sides.
“Waait,” Deacon Clayton said as he watched the three tall
arrivals squeeze themselves into that the second set of pews. “All the guys…”
“are sitting up FRONT,” Deacon Morris finished with a laugh.
“What’s up with that?”
“Deacs!”
A wiry athletic light skinned man in his 20s bounded up the
insteps to the pulpit area. Grinning, he undid his loose fitting navy blue suit
coat and slid into a chair next to Deacon Cherry.
“Oh, so you made it ,” Cherry said tersely as he adjusted
his cufflinks.
“Aw, I know, pastor already gave me a hard time about being
late,” the young man said with a grin.
“Ay, that’s part of your training, Del.” Deacon Clayton
offered. “Part of being a deacon.”
“Well shoot, Deacon Sheppard ain’t even here yet!” Delonte
retorted.
“And he was supposed to be helping pastor baptize today,”
Morris added. He looked over his shoulder with a concerned glance at the
waiting baptism pool, bathed in shadow on the left and one steady sunbeam on
the right.
“Well, I did my part to help,” Delonte said proudly and
leaned back in his chair.
All three of the older deacons fastened their eyes on him.
Suddenly Bro. Richard was at the piano banging out chords.
“Take Me to the Water” slowly engulfed the church. Pastor Peterson smiled and
sang as he descended into the pool. His ex-football frame stretched the tight
white sweatshirt he wore. Deaconess Blackstar followed; she was wearing a white
baptismal robe, no gaudy sweats for her. The annoyed look left her face as she
turned back to the steps and extended her hand to beckon the first convert to
come down.
A stunningly beautiful woman came into view. The bulky white
gown couldn’t hide her ample curves and with each step into the pool the fabric
hugged her tighter and become more transparent.
“AAA-men!” Del grunted.
The men in the crowded pews craned their necks nonchalantly
as Deaconess Blackstar guided her down the stairs. Then they all, each and
every one, leaned forward as if their heads were attached to one string, as the
woman settled into the middle of the pool and her robe clung to her stomach
just tantalizingly below her bust line.
One of the tall guys managed to avert his eyes long enough
to give Delonte an affirming nod, who responded in kind almost imperceptibly. Almost.
The three older deacons were staring at him again.
“OK, to help bring in the crowd I might have mentioned
something about thin material…”
Deacon Cherry whipped his head from side to side, trying to
speak. Deacon Morris bowed his head and rubbed his eyes, trying to stifle his
laughter. Deacon Clayton muttered:
“Son of a b…”
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