::in it::

i've started, so, if you don't hear from me for a while, you'll understand. here an excerpt from the barely 300 words i've thrown on paper for the NaNoWriMo challenge. no jokes, please. this is tough!
no other excerpts will be posted for copyright concerns. you can never be too careful as i see it. and, some publishers want first dibs on your work. blogging, as it were, is becoming a veritable publishing medium--yeah for that! i still ask you: will you pay me to entertain you? ah, just buy yourself some music c/o iTunes then. the college bookstore will thank you personally! i promise!

Staring at the red lights in front of her, Emily's mind wandered. "Traffic on The Bridge isn't usually this heavy this time of night," she mused. The Bridge. Oh, that gorgeous hunk of twisting metal that hung there with open arms, ready to greet wearisome travelers and wandering gypsies. Emily was neither, and The Bridge was no stranger to her ways. The radio hummed indiscriminately in the background as her Corolla idled wearily. Exhaling heavily, her thin hand fumbled unconsciously through the glove compartment. Shifting into park, Emily turned her attention to the search, which turned up a lone pack of Dunhills, matches, a cell phone charger, and the odd bits of paper. Glancing up at the parked cars around her, she noticed several other drivers had become preoccupied with the contents of their cars and the local scenery. "Only in my town," she thought, shaking her head. No one bothered to find the reason for the hold up.

Turning once more to the open glove box before her, Emily sifted through the crumpled paper and found one that got her attention. Heart skipping, she uncovered an envelope in the mess with her name on it. The writing was eerily familiar, and the flap of the envelope was loosely tucked inside itself. Opening the flap, she unfolded a piece of notebook paper which was folded the exact number of times necessary for it to fit perfectly and neatly in its enclosure. Hands trembling slightly, Emily unfolded the letter and instantly recognized the artsy scribbling of Lorne, her husband. Instantly, her face wrinkled up in anguish and tears burned her eyes. Lorne had been dead for three years.