The fifteen minute novel writing experiment is a attempt to write a complete (and very rough) draft of a novel by writing for fifteen minutes each day. I have taken a timed writing from one of the daily prompts done in 2021, cleaned it up a little and used it as my jumping off point into a story. Each day I will take the last line of the story written the day before and use it as my sentence starter and write for fifteen minutes, growing the story as the year progresses.
Day 141: “I don’t want it,” he said mulishly. “I want Anya’s stew.”
“I don’t want it,” he said mulishly. “I want Anya’s stew.”
“This is better,” his mother told him.
“When is Anya coming back,” he asked. His lower lip jutted forward in a pout. Anya knew the signs. Gaman was the youngest and the favorite of his parents. Both of them doted on him and he was generally allowed more leeway than the other children. Because he was so accustomed to getting his way, when things didn’t fall neatly into his lap, his tantrums were fierce.
Usually, his temper was ignored as his parents made an escape and Anya was left to deal with it. With her gone, Anya wondered what would happen. The adults either didn’t recognize the signs or chose to ignore them
“Anya isn’t returning,” his mother snapped at him and Anya lifted an eyebrow. She suspected that this was not the first time this question had been asked. “You will just have to accept that.”
“I want Anya,” Gaman repeated. He picked up his bowl and slammed it onto the floor. The wooden bowl cracked and the porridge contained within splattered out of the top and spilled across the floor.
“I need to get going,” their father said. He made his escape.
“Clean this up and make sure he is fed,” their mother told the hired girl before she too made her escape. They left the girl to deal with Gaman as they once left Anya. Deciding she didn’t want to see how she planned to deal with him or he mess, Anya slipped out, following her father out of the house. She expected him to go to work,. Instead she found herself following him to the pub.
Anya had ever been in the pub before. Once she stood on the threshold and sent a message within when she was sent to fetch her father home due to an emergency, but she had never stepped inside.
‘Technically I am not stepping inside now,’ Anya thought as she followed him in across the threshold. It was still early and there were few patrons. Most of them had stayed overnight and were now rising to break their fast. Many of them were finishing their morning repast and getting on with the day’s work. For some it was a shifting aside the now empty bowls and beckoning others over so that they could discuss matters of trade. Others were joined by merchants as those men tried to send their goods on their way. There were a few who just huddled by the fire and lingered in the dark corners, their eyes bleary with both clinging sleep and the drink they already consumed.
Wondering where her father fit in to this mix she watched. He seemed part of neither group. He was not meeting anyone, at least not anyone in the pub, and he didn’t join those settled in the shadows. Still he was served a pint without needing to ask and it was clear that he was a familiar enough face. He ignored those in the shadows when they called comments to him. Anya was surprised by the looks that some of the merchants sent his way. They weren’t very friendly looks, some looking both annoyed and disgusted with him. Anya remembered him being relatively well liked and wondered what had changed. The magistrate may have received complaints from her sisters’ husbands but she didn’t know if that was public knowledge yet.
Ten til Midnight 