This week has been crazy and I love it. I don’t know that I’ve gotten more than 6 hours of sleep a night and I have been working like a mad woman. I don’t think I’ve turned on my computer for more than a few minutes every day to report my hours for work.
That doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing, though. Slow moments at work have me breaking out my cellphone and adding a few lines here and there to my works-in-progress.
Oh, and to start another story.
Why, yes, I am in the middle of 3 stories. So, why not make that 4? This one came to me in the shower and I had to write it down. I love showers for just that reason. Thank goodness this one is short, though. And yes, it gets naughty pretty darn fast.
Here’s the first few hundred words.
Jack was performing his nightly round of bed checks in the oldest dormitory at Herschford College.
A small liberal arts college on the east coast, catering to the sons of the richest men in the world, Herschford was one of the few non-religious men’s colleges left. It didn’t advertise and there were no scholarships; if you couldn’t afford it, you didn’t know about it.
Unless, of course, you worked there.
Employed as a Dorm Monitor for Clayworth Hall, Jack Wainwright was in charge of making sure the sons of wealth and privilege followed the rules, including curfews for freshmen. Unless it was a holiday, freshmen weren’t allowed off campus or out of their rooms after nine o’clock at night.
There were always exceptions, of course, and some of the families paid a lot of money to allow their sons to run wild in the surrounding city. Some of the sports teams were occasionally allowed to have their youngest members at team building events, usually wild parties with alcohol and women of questionable reputation, but they had to get permission in advance.
There were some, though, who didn’t think the rules applied to them.
This year, the rowing team were the worst offenders.