Sunday, April 18, 2010

Small Comfort

Harold looked over Lucy's shoulder. "What are you doing, love?"

"I'm writing a novel," she said. "It can't be that hard, surely? Speccy Stevens' dad writes them and he's really creepy. If creepy people can write novels then normal people like me can, too."

Harold patted her shoulder, wondering when he should tell her she was artificially inseminated by a fallen angel, her father was a half-demon, her grandmother a faery and her birth mother a vampire. He left her to it, wandering into the kitchen to make them both a hot chocolate. At least she didn't read Stephanie Myers.

4 comments:

aims said...

I'm wondering how this turns out. If Lucy ends up finishing her novel before I finish mine I'll be really embarrassed. (I think I already am).

Leatherdykeuk said...

*laughs*
Lucy's seven or eight here -- it'll be a while before she can compete.

stephanie said...

*claps*

I may love this best of all.

Leatherdykeuk said...

Thanks Stephanie :)