Hello fellow WIPpeteers and readers! I missed last Wednesday quite by accident, so I am bound and determined not to miss it this time around. First though . . . *points to the picture down below*
What is that you see??? Is it a picture of a polaroid picture of Dean Cain hugging me???? Why, YES IT IS! I mentioned this in my previous post, but it is sooo worth mentioning again! I met him at the comic con, and WOW! That was a major moment in my life. He was so incredibly nice and gave me four hugs. I repeat: FOUR HUGS! I would spaz more about it (again), but there’s a bit to post for WIPpet Wednesday, so suffice it to say, I’m a pretty happy gal.
I’ve an announcement to make: my superman story, “Will You Be Mine” is now up on my website! No need to track it down over at fanfiction.net. I thought (for those who are interested in reading it) I could make things easy on you and make my site a one stop place you had to go for blogs and stories. After all, I blog about writing, so it makes sense to share it, right? *grins* The first six chapters are up, and chapter six is brand spanking new! I want to iterate that this story will by no means have perfect grammar, tenses, and punctuation. It’s mostly a creative writing exercise.
Without further ado, here’s 27 sentences from the third chapter of “Will You Be Mine.” It’s the 18th day in the 9th month of September. 18+9=27. Clark is sitting down with Miss Wingham at her estate, the woman who had spoken with him over the phone.
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“You seem quite taken with my estate,” Miss Wingham’s voice cut into his thoughts.
“I’ve been here before,” Clark replied.
Miss Wingham arched a lone eyebrow in surprise. “Oh?”
“In my dreams,” Clark explained. “Rose showed this place to me, asking me to find her.”
The older woman nodded. “That would be because she haunts my estate.”
“Why?” Clark asked, having guessed this himself. “What connection does she have here?”
“In due time, Mister Kent,” Miss Wingham said, and at that moment several servers approached bearing trays of food and pitchers of drink. “First, we shall eat to replenish our minds and our bodies. It is time for me to take my medication. Then we will delve into the hands of fate that have brought you and me together to help a distressed spirit.”
A little eccentric, aren’t you? Clark thought silently.
Nevertheless, he granted her wishes and withheld the barrage of questions he was itching to ask. As a garden salad was placed in front of Clark, he watched another server hold out a small silver tray to Miss Wingham; on it rested a small needle syringe and a bottle of clear medicine. He recognized it as insulin. The older woman glanced up and caught Clark’s stare.
She arched a brow and gave him a pointed look. “Do I amuse you?”
Clark felt color rise to his cheeks and looked down in embarrassment. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to stare. Diabetes can be an awful disease,” he added in hopes it would console a very stiff, proper English woman.
“Yes, it can,” Miss Wingham replied coolly, her tone indicating that the subject was not open to further discussion.
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