Once more into the breach

D: A, you know, you really ought not to dance.

A: I know. Two very confused left feet – I can’t help it, D. I’m excited!

D: I can see that. You’re looking for me to ask why, I take it?

A: It would help. I’d stop dancing if you did.

D: Fair enough – why are you so excited, A?

A: I’m excited to write Part 2, D! Actually excited.

D: I’m feeling like this should offend me, somehow.

A: Everything offends you, D. Let me explain. I was happy to start this project – surprised actually, since I could finally see you and understand your story. I was satisfied with my writing, and I was giddy when we started this project on the interwebs. I was pleased when I completed Part 1 and edited it enough that it wasn’t too cringe-worthy for my dear friends/editors/readers who are kind enough to tear it apart for the greater good.

That was yesterday morning, D. And then I went out into my sleeping garden and proceeded to get my first sunburn of the year (yay sun!). And all day, Part 2 threaded itself through my mind. And I was excited – so excited that I stayed up until 1 am writing an outline that I’ll rip to shreds today, but has good bones.

I’m excited, D. I want to write this story. It’s been a really long tme.

D: Congratulations, A. I still feel as though I ought to be offended, but I’m also proud of you.

A: Is it wrong that I’m worried now?

D: (Sigh) I’m proud of you because I know how you feel about the 1916 storyline. You were a callous young woman with no knowledge of the world beyond books when you first wrote it. I like that you’re looking at it again, as a mother, as someone who’s lived a little bit more, and changing it. I’m far more comfortable being a part of it; I feel like I am finally part of the story.

A: I’m looking for the compliment in that, and I think I found it. . . so, thank you?

D: You’re welcome, A. . . By the way, are we going to have more introspective forays like this?

A: Oh, hell no! Don’t worry, D. I can’t do this every day. . . remember, deep as a puddle. I promise to keep it to a minimum, so long as you keep up your end of the bargain.

D: And that is?

A: Snarky comments, never-ending second guessing and a ruthless honesty that keeps me on my toes.

D: Almost sounds as though you like me, A.

A: Don’t let it go to your head, Druid. We still have 2.75 books left – a lot can happen!

D: I have been warned. . . but you do like me.

A: D. . .

D: You admitted it – you like me!

A: Seriously, D – how old are you?

D: 1300 years old and male. You like me. Ha.

A: I give up.

October the Ninth, Year of Our Lord 1584

Sean and Maureen:

By now, you may know who I am. It is yet only the beginning of the tale, and believe me when I say that it is a tale to be told. But I’ll not commit it to paper – not yet, not when the end has yet to be written.

You will have questions, and one day I will do what I can to see that they are answered. I said I would do what I could to see you both safe, and despite that she’s a pirate, and now consummate enemy of Sir Richard Bingham, Grania Uaile is as safe as you could hope to be – for now. . .

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