I am leapfrogging again to a different WIP. All three that I have posted are in various stages of writing, and yes, I do hop around according to my mood.
This is from my NaNo rebel project in 2013, a memoir begun as catharsis, but which moved into exploration of early relationships. 10 sentences figured out thus: 7+16=23-14=9. The extra sentence is a gimme, to finish the paragraph without using a semi-colon (I love semi-colons, overuse them, and blast them from my writing as much as possible).
By the age of two, I’d perfected invisibility, without magic potion, industrial accident, or cloaking device. When my mother noticed my presence, her eyes narrowed, her lips thinned, reliving the difficult and unplanned pregnancy that produced me. My father’s eyes skimmed past me at the breakfast table, the “extra” child who set awry his careful budget planning. I had tried the “cute puppy” route with my siblings, but that had banished me from my brother’s room, and my sisters were almost magically inoculated against my charms. “If you wake me up, I’ll tell the tigers under the crib to eat you,” my sister’s version of a bedtime prayer, made me a light sleeper at 18 months. With nothing to recommend me to my siblings, who had to share already strained space and food with me, my best course was to disappear.
Poster child of being unseen as well as unheard, I hid under draped tablecloths, sidled along walls, never looked directly at anyone and only spoke when questioned. I loathed winter. Small, thin, and perpetually cold, I crept near any heat register hidden from the open sight line of parent or sibling. In summer, I’d burst outdoors at daybreak to hide in the back yard’s pine brush and soak up the warmth of a Southern day.