The peculiar thing about the house wasn't the notable and constant absence of cars from the drive. Nor was it the lack of footprints on the unshoveled sidewalk; either leading to or away from the house. Nor that everything inside the wrought iron gate, in fact, was draped in a pristine blanket of snow, untouched by any evidence of humanity whatsoever. No, the oddest thing about the old mansion was the curl of smoke escaping from the chimney on bitter evenings such as this. Odd because it contradicted all of the aforementioned evidence that the house was unoccupied.
The funny thing about this piece is that it is wholly unlike CB. The MC is a man in his mid-late thirties, and his narration has a sort of old-fashioned feel to it because he's kind of an aloof guy. CB is very contemporary, with a first-person MC who is a 17-year-old girl. The interesting thing is, I can see a little of myself in each of these disparate characters.
Despite the fact this manuscript is in very rough and early stages, I really love this project a lot. But it's one of those pieces you don't want to rush--I can picture working on it for the next couple of years, in between other projects, crafting it until it is just right.