36,295 Words written and extract, Blue Lynx

 That number Kind of indicates that I may be half way through my current novel, which I started writing about 8 months ago, then had a three month hiatus but now getting back on track. Edited extract from the end of chapter 2 here - 

                                                            *

I didn’t throw anything, I slapped Rick’s self-satisfied, mocking face so hard it knocked him off balance. He grabbed my arm and began twisting it. In a second Andy was between us.

‘Get the fuck off her, dickhead,’ he gave his brother a shove and Rick retreated across the room. ‘Are you okay Mand?’ Andy pulled me close. Over his shoulder I could see Rik grimacing at me. A red mark was already appearing on his temple, with luck I had given him a black eye. It was small recompense, I knew the bastard was right. They never had paid me. Everything I’d done for the band over the last 20 years wasn’t really appreciated. Most of it probably hadn’t even been noticed, they just assumed that they deserved it and in the main the rock career of Blue Lynx had run fairly smoothly, like those beautiful swans on the river, only I was the one paddling furiously underneath.

*

After I saw that Rick’s announcement wasn’t challenged by the guys, although Andy did at least have the nous to look uncomfortable, I cleared the twins’ plates into the sink and they rushed upstairs to play Mario Cart. I went out to the barn. If only Andy had stuck up for me properly, instead of just pushing Rick away, I’d have almost welcomed one of his fights with his brother.  Maybe he thought a fistfight in our kitchen would upset me more, although it didn’t usually. I was used to the Brandon brothers brawling, I just didn’t want it in front of the kids.

Baker the cat miaowed a greeting from the top of a stack of four hay bales as I opened the barndoor and most of the chickens came up to greet me. I know it was only what my nan used to call cupboard love, but at least they needed me and appreciated what I did for them. I threw down a handful of grain from the bin and sat on a bale with chickens pecking around my feet.

One of the silkies didn’t come, she was sitting against the barn wall and looked as if she might be brooding some eggs. I felt a bit sorry for her, sitting on eggs that would never hatch. I’d sort of promised the kids that we might at least get a cockerel for the little silkies so they could hatch a few chicks without the possible problems a big Orpington rooster might cause. Then the silkie got up and came over to join the others, pecking up the remains of the grain. There weren’t any eggs where she’d been sitting, she was just having a lie-in. I decided there would definitely be no roosters, cockerels, whatever the correct word was. There were too many cocks around the place already.