BY MJR. MORON:
My WIP is going really well. I doubt I'll finish it before the end of the month (I'm trying to finish it for NaNoWriMo) but I'm pretty happy with my progress. Here's a clip...

Light spilled out as the door swung open and silhouetted in the brightness stood the only relative I’d ever met: Uncle Titus. He was big. Tall and wide, but not fat. Just muscley, like a man who’d made his living pounding nails or busting concrete. He was also silent. After looking us over for a minute or two, he took Mom’s suitcase, stepped aside and motioned us in.
I don’t know what I expected…maybe a lot of beer cans and newspapers and microwave dinner trays. But the house was … I guess you’d say neat. Neat as a pin. Pillows on the couch, an afghan folded over a rocking chair, a cup of coffee next to a thick book.
“Exactly like I remember it,” Mom said.
Uncle Titus was still holding her suitcase. In the light, I could see he was pretty old, like maybe sixty, and kind of bald on top. I just couldn’t get over how big he was. The suitcase looked like a lunchbox in his hands. I stepped closer to Mom; she seemed awfully small next to the guy and he still hadn’t said anything. Maybe he didn’t know we were coming. Maybe he was mad.
But then he smiled.
I’ve never seen anything like that smile. Big and scary as he was, that smile made you want to go up and give him a hug. It made you want to laugh out loud. It was like everything that had ever made me happy, all rolled together. I couldn’t help but smile back.