Today the word count of my embryonic novel has passed the 62 thousand word point, which I’m told is meant to mean that it gets easier because I’m meant to be well past the difficult ‘getting started’ point.  I don’t really feel that way though right now.

     Tuvid stopped as well. “Yes,” the young man said flatly, his voice betraying little emotion, but his face was clearly troubled. He gestured to the field to their left. “This field should be full of wheat, two feet high maybe, but it’s as if nobody has worked it in weeks. The weeds and stones are choking the plants. No farmer would let this happen.”
Don snorted, and urged his horse onward. “Not every farmer is like yer da’, son. They might’ve changed minds about the field, or they could be short of hands an’ had to concentrate on what they can afford.”  Tuvid was right: while an empty field might be left fallow for a year, it would be a rare farmer who would spend the effort planting a field only to abandon it completely.

© Robert Goforth, 2012, no part of this may be duplicated without permission.  All rights reserved