Okay, one more short snippet, just because I really had fun with this bit, and because it illustrates a couple of points about writing.
First off, you may note that Sarah’s name has changed. I was not entirely happy with “Sarah.” It wasn’t quite right, and I stumbled over it a little whenever I typed it. It’s still early enough in the story that I can change it if I want, but we were getting to the point where her name would be set in mental stone. (Some characters you can’t rename after five minutes, if they have the right name, but if the name is a generic placeholder, you get some wiggle room. First person narrators can change names like shirts, for me, because their real name is “I.” The most agonizing is if you have to change after the book is nearly written, because it turns out somebody else wrote a book that came out ten minutes ago that has a character with the same damn name.)
“Summer” is better in my head. It may yet shift around, but I think I might have this one nailed down at last.
“The Purple Stained Glass Saint”
She looked down at the weasel. It looked back up at her and shrugged, a tiny shrug that rippled through its entire body.
“What do I do?” she whispered.
“I’ve no idea,” the weasel whispered back, “but you might start by watching where you were going.”
Summer was so startled to hear the weasel talking—although after the skull, she didn’t know why she’d be surprised—that she nearly dropped it. It whipped between her fingers, as quick as a skink, and threw its front paws around her thumb.
“Sorry,” whispered Summer. “You surprised me!”
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