It seemed impossible, Daisy later reflected, that it could take almost two weeks to write the first chapter, but she and Onslow rewrote it at least ten times. They both wanted a good introduction to the story, and at last they had it. Daisy and Onslow had also decided to write in the supporting characters as they went along; it was too tasking, and fruitless, to spend a lot of time thinking of characters in advance and writing more profiles.

Daisy read part of the first chapter aloud, just to see what it sounded like:

Chapter I: Florence

Florence Fontaine stood in the dining room of the house she shared with her husband, William, and scrutinized the table settings. Her ivory-colored china was perfectly arranged, and her Royal Danish flatware was perfectly polished. The chandelier that hung over the table was neatly dusted, and the formal chairs were as brightly polished as the silverware.

"William!" Florence called out to her husband. William came hurrying in. He knew very well to heed her as quickly as possible.

"Well, what do you think?" Florence demanded.

"About what?" William asked, puzzled.

"The table setting!" Florence said, as if this should be obvious.

"Oh, it's…nice," William said hastily.

"Nice?" Florence said, a dangerous tone in her voice. William backtracked quickly. "Very nice. Quite grand. Excellent polishing."

"Thank you. I am known for the quality of my polishing," Florence said airily. "Now, I must have Leah come here for tea and I'll ask her what she thinks. She is a very good friend of mine and she's always honest with me."

William hid a smile. Their neighbor, Leah, never really lied to Florence, but the latter had a profound effect on her, and Leah always managed to find some way of giving Florence the approval she expected…

…

"You are getting into something decent and coming with me. And brush your hair!" Rose ordered a week later, staring levelly at Daisy, who stood in the doorway of the council house, looking rather perturbed. Daisy's fingers were smudged with typewriter ink (it was more efficient to type than to write by hand), and her hair was rumpled.

"We're busy writing the novel," Daisy said irritably.

"And it's making you quite edgy," Rose said bluntly.

"Sometimes an artistic mind can become temperamental," Daisy said, still irritated.

Rose again looked levelly at her sister. "You look like a wreck. Get dressed, brush your hair and come out for some fresh air and some decent food. I just know you've been living on takeout. Besides, you'll get burned out and then you won't want to write at all."

Daisy frowned. "And what about Onslow? He hardly gets sleep anymore and he's even more of a slob than ever! He kept rewriting the second chapter all day yesterday."

Rose smiled knowingly. "It's already taken care of. Emmett will be coming along a little later to drag that oaf—sorry, Daisy—out for a drink."

Shrugging her shoulders in defeat, Daisy obeyed her younger sister. A few moments later, she came out, looking much neater, and she actually looked more cheerful, admitting to Rose that she could use a break. When queried, Daisy suggested taking their luncheon at Lin's Garden, an excellent Chinese restaurant.

"Do you really think it could be published?" Rose asked a short time later, savoring a bowl of won-ton soup. Daisy looked up from a large serving of sweet and sour shrimp and smiled broadly.

"I think it might, but we have to finish writing it first."

Rose then steered the conversation away from the subject, and was telling about the disrespectful customers she sometimes encountered at Weatherby's department store. Daisy listened to the diatribe, sometimes staring in disbelief. She wondered at Rose's patience in working retail, but the latter assured her that she was just 'venting'—most of the customers were very friendly, or at least cordial.

The food and conversation did help clear Daisy's head, and she went back to the council house, feeling more awake and cheerful. Onslow was there too, having just returned from his and Emmett's visit to the pub. Both agreed to take a break from writing for a few days, which proved very sensible. A week later, they returned to their project with an impressive vigor.

Gradually a plot was sketched out, and they took turns writing. Daisy was best at dialog, while Onslow, who'd always been fascinated with words and grammar, was excellent at narrative, occasionally to a fault. Some of his prose was so 'grand' the Daisy would laugh—in a friendly way, of course—and a sometimes begrudging Onslow would edit it.

…

"Are you sure this is right," Onslow said one sunny morning, "baiting him just to get more inspiration for 'his' character?"

"When our book's published, he'll love the amusing twist on Hyacinth's personality and behavior. Now stop fussing and drive to the vicarage, please."

Onslow frowned, but started the ignition, and his ancient automobile started with its usual backfire.

"Maybe, if our book is published, we'll make enough to get a new car," Daisy said. "So we'll need all the inspiration we can get, to make our novel outstanding."

"I still say it isn't quite charitable…but we did go through a lot of trouble to set this up."

"You mean I did. It was my idea," Daisy teased.

Onslow parked the car one street over from the vicarage, and then, like spies, they crept around the perimeter of the vicarage grounds and hid themselves behind a hedge, where they had a good view of the front door.

"Hyacinth should be here at any moment," Daisy said, giggling.

"Shh!" Onslow said. "There she is."

Hyacinth, immaculately arrayed in a bluebonnet-print dress (she still fondly remembered her and Richard's visit to Texas), marched up to the home where the vicar and his wife lived and rang the doorbell. A few moments later, the door opened and the vicar himself stood there.

"Yes, how can I help—" he began to say, and then stood frozen in alarm. "Mrs. Buck—I mean, 'Bouquet', what are you doing here?"

Daisy and Onslow could tell from Hyacinth's grand, patronizing tone that she was wearing the ingratiating smile that Michael hated.

"Don't be shy, Vicar. I appreciate you calling and asking for my help."

"Calling? Help?" Michael said, baffled.

Onslow couldn't help himself; he started to laugh, but Daisy shoved him. "Quiet!" she hissed.

"You said you needed help planning the next senior citizen's outing."

The look on the vicar's face sorely tested Daisy's ability to control her laughter. This time it was Onslow who gave her a warning shove, and she bit down hard on her lip so that she would remain silent. The pair waited expectantly.

At that moment Michael's wife appeared and edged past him. "Why, Mrs. 'Bouquet'," she said cordially, "how are you doing?"

The vicar started to speak, but Hyacinth interrupted him. "I'm quite well. Your husband called and asked for my help planning the next senior citizen's outing. Now he says he didn't. But he needn't fib. I know he must feel a bit overwhelmed, speaking to someone who has such skill in arranging social gatherings—he almost didn't sound like himself on the telephone—but I assure you, Alice, I'm a very humble woman and dedicated to this parish. He needn't feel intimidated by my years of experience."

Alice exchanged a bewildered glance with her husband. "It must have been some practical joke," she said hastily, "though I can't imagine who would do that. He's been occupied writing his sermon this morning."

"Yes, what she said," Michael intoned.

"Ah, yes," Hyacinth said doubtfully. "Well, I don't see why you should feel nervous about wanting my assistance, but if you change your mind, do call me again."

"But I didn't-" Michael started to say, but Alice gave him a look that clearly said there's no point in arguing.

Hyacinth walked to the Evanses' driveway, where a patient Richard was sitting in the driver's seat, listening to the whole exchange. The Buckets left and the vicar and his wife stood on the doorstep for a moment, stunned.

"I didn't call her," Michael protested.

"Yes, I know, dear," Alice said patiently.

"I'm just wondering what heartless idiot would pull this prank."

Alice glanced sternly at her husband. "Michael, that's not very charitable. You sound as if you're describing a murderer."

The vicar's voice drifted back as he followed Alice into their home. "I'm not perfect, Alice. This was quite upsetting, and whoever did this wasn't quite nice…"

When the door shut behind them, Daisy and Onslow snuck away, grinning. Oh, perhaps it had been an unfair trick—but they had such good material now! Daisy also praised Onslow for his ability to do a fairly good impression of Michael's voice. They couldn't help it; they had a good laugh, thought they felt very guilty.

The weeks went by, and Daisy and Onslow grew more and more confident about their novel; perhaps a little too confident, as they both kept discussing what they would do with their money and fame 'when' False Impressions of the Social Wannabe became a national, or perhaps international, bestseller.

However, there was one thing that they'd taken to heart; Rose's advice to take a break regularly so that they wouldn't eventually tire of writing their story. Daisy also became more well-read than she'd ever been; she read various novels (not just paperback romances), to get an idea of characterization, pacing, and dialog.

"We can do it, Onslow," Daisy said gleefully one evening, when they had finished a fifth chapter. "We can get this published, and when we do…"

Well, there you go, another chapter! I'll probably heed Rose's advice :-D and take a break for a couple of weeks, but I promise I'll be back!