Works In Progress

Outside the Café Pastichque

2006-09-07T13:33:00.000-07:00

She sits down across from me at a café table in the courtyard. The courtyard’s a big place and there are plenty of other tables. Tables where no one’s sitting. Tables where I’m not sitting.

She’s pretty. Sitcom second best friend pretty. Straight shoulder-length chestnut brown hair, one thin braid with a green pony bead at the end dangling over her left eyebrow. Blonde roots. Brown eyes.

Probably a college kid, probably read in Sociology 5A that in Europe it’s customary to sit at a café table opposite a complete stranger. Apparently missed the day it was mentioned that the University of Oregon isn’t in Europe.

She’s wearing a Cold Stone Creamery apron. Nametag says Yew. Not likely she’s paying out-of-state tuition with a name like that. She’s brought a scoop of ice cream in a cup with her. Pistachio or mint; coming from Cold Stone, maybe both.

I return to my composition notebook and the ninth printout of Chapter Fifteen (wherein a mysterious benefactor is named). I read a paragraph. Change a couple words. Make a note in the margin to consider a different p.o.v.

Yew takes a bite of ice cream.

I start to get a headache.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

She giggles. Glances over at the Cold Stone shop at the far end of the plaza. “That’s my line.”

A giggling college girl. I’m so too old for this.

“Whatcha doin?”

“Working on a story.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“What why—I’m a writer. That’s what we do.”

Yew licks the back of her spoon. “We? You have multiple personalities.”

It’s not quite a question. It’s not quite wrong. But it’s beside the point nonetheless.

“Writers in general. They tend to write, every now and again.”

“So is it now or again”—her braid swings from side to side as she speaks—“that you’re writing?”

Both. Yes. How do you answer that?

“And you put too much stock in what other writers do, y’know.”

Finally the coin drops. “It’s YOU!”

People in suits and upscale casualwear turn toward us. Then they remember their goat cheese salads and bruschetta and lose interest in our little floor show.

“No,” she says, Vanna-Whiting a hand beneath her nametag, “it’s Yew. And haven’t you heard it’s impolite to write in all caps? It’s like shouting.”

“I was shouting. What are you doing here and why are you a woman?”

“It was more of a bellow; you need to work on your verb choices. Vanna-Whiting? And I’m here and a woman because what is, is.”

“But you appeared as a man for Mark and Jules and Mike and—Linda? You appeared for Linda, didn’t you?”

“Might’ve been Michelle. Don’t know, I get around. First, you need practice developing female characters. And, like I said, you put way too much stock in what other writers are doing.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with using people? Did you miss that day in Ethics 50B?”

“I never took Ethics. And how am I using them?”

“Inspiration. Validation. Couple other –ations, too, but let’s start with those.”

“What’s wrong with finding inspiration in what other people are doing?”

“If other people were inspired to jump off the DeFazio Pedestrian Bridge and into the Willamette, you would too, wouldn’t you?”

“No. I’m not that strong a swimmer.”

“But you’d want to, wish you were—and points off for running Martin Short/SNL lines.”

“Well, points off for cribbing Jeanne’s whole ‘points’ thing.”

We glare at each other.

“We’re glowering,” she says. “It’s a combination glare and scowl. Work on your verbs.”

More glowering.

“And Jeanne didn’t invent that whole ‘points’ thing, either. So there.”

“Now who’s defensive about what other people ‘do’ or ‘do not’ do?”

Yew spoons at the mostly melted ice cream. Mumbles. “do or do not do. doo doo. spoons at isn’t a verb. and writing in all lower-case to indicate sotto voce isn’t clever.”

“What?”

She leaves the plastic spoon in the cup and pushes her chair away from the table, metal chairlegs grating across the pebbled concrete. The successful-looking people glance over at us again. “Why are you on your ninth printout? Because you’ve revised it eight times? Or because you’ve been dabbling in side markets to match what your internet buddies have done and consequently misplaced several copies you already printed out?”

I glower solo.

“And why have you been pursuing those markets? Do they advance what you’re working on there or is it so you’ll have something new to crow about and maybe someone will throw you a congratulatory Scooby Snack?”

I melt her ice cream with my glare-slash-scowl.

“Look, break time’s over.” Yew picks up the Styrofoam cup and chugs the goo. “Stop chasing. Stop feeding off your friends. You’ve got four, maybe five chapters left on a revision you began a year ago. And at least one more rewrite after that. So enough with the flash and the shorts, enough with damning yourself with the approbation of your friends (sincere and well-intentioned as it may be, they’re great folks after all). Quit finding reasons not to work on your novel. Finish the book. Now.”

I look down at my composition notebook and the third actual revision of Chapter Fifteen (wherein Emil Kennedy makes a terrible discovery). Has it been a year on this rewrite, five weeks on this chapter alone?

The Styrofoam cup is all that remains across the table from me when I look back up. The scent of limes and Yew’s voice float on the breeze through the courtyard.

“‘Chugs the goo.’ He’s hopeless.”

Acceptance!

2006-08-03T20:24:00.000-07:00

Just got word this afternoon that the Wittenburg Door's editorial board liked the short I sent them. Tentatively titled: "2007 Concert Forecast: Increasing Wackiness."

My first Door submission was accepted about this time last year; it ran in the Nov/Dec edition.

Stay tuned.

Surprise News

2006-07-18T14:14:00.000-07:00

There's more detail over on my other blog, but it turns out the local daily ran with the press release I sent. I appeared on page B-4 of this last Sunday's "Oregon Life" section. [scan]

Woo-hoo!

Interview Update

2006-07-17T23:53:00.000-07:00

No call on Friday, but talked to the editor of the regional weekly this evening. No time to make the issue they're currently working on, but we're looking to connect this Wednesday to set things up for the next issue.

Stay tuned.

Whew!

2006-07-16T00:07:00.000-07:00

At long last I've finished another chapter in my novel-in-progress. Chapter Fourteen begins the final day of the story and had me hung up for months. Finally overcame (I hope) the challenge of getting my main character going without it being a "he woke up and brushed his teeth" kinda deal.

It opens with pain (always popular) and then a series of flashbacks as he reconstructs the night before. Anyone have a good suggestion for a book that handles mini-flashbacks well? Or shows how to integrate a summary scene into a story during the straight-ahead sequence of events? It's been brought to my attention I have a habit of switching to flashback mode while characters do mundane tasks like sitting in a waiting room (I finally read your feedback, Angie; thanks!) or, in this case, ironing. Seems to me the guy's got to do something, but if this is poor technique someone point me to a master craftsman to get me some schoolin'.

Still, the chapter is done (crit partners, brace yourselves). And I'm pumped about the next one. And the one after that. And then things are gonna get messy. Heh, heh, heh.

... and Interestinger

2006-07-12T20:49:00.000-07:00

I had a good chat with the editor of West Lane News this evening. Turns out he lives about 4 miles from me. Talked about Brandilyn's character blog, what I'm up to, etc.

He raised the possibility of running a photo of me with the story. Since I'm not JD Salinger (in ohsomany ways), I suggested a picture by Triangle Lake, tying in with the lake in the character blog and he liked that idea. He also liked my "sideline with an eye to the future" description of where I'm at with my writing right now.

Next step: he'll be in touch Friday to (hopefully!) set up a half hour face-to-face sometime in the coming week. Stay tuned...

Interestinger and Interestinger

2006-07-12T17:32:00.000-07:00

A week ago I sent out a handful of press releases to local newspapers about landing a role in Brandilyn Collins' Scenes & Beans character blog. I included a note about winning the DKA short story contest and mentioned the online and print success I've been blessed with to date.

This afternoon I got an e-mail from an editor at one of the papers, requesting an interview. Hmmmm.

Getting Better All the Time

2006-07-12T00:01:00.000-07:00

900 or so words isn't the 1,200 I had hoped for, but I did finish the opening scene to Part III of the book. It's not my best writing ever (I don't think it sucks either), but it's got the ball rolling.

Now if only I can stay ahead of it and not get pulped...

A Crack in the Dam!

2006-07-10T23:58:00.000-07:00

For the first time since Mount Hermon (three months ago), I actually wrote down more than a scene idea for Revival. 600 words isn't near the wordcount I'd hoped for, but it's 600 words more than at any time in the last 90 days.

Let's go for two days in a row (and maybe double the word count)!

TWD: The Resubmitteding

2006-07-10T11:30:00.000-07:00

A while back I sent a story in to The Wittenburg Door for (hopeful) publication. A story and a sidebar, actually. I got a note back from the editor saying I stood a better chance if I resubmitted just the sidebar with a short intro. Thanked him and got to work.

The piece went from 600 words down to 150 (60-ish in the short intro). Resubmitted last night, got an encouraging note (included "MUCH better") from the editor this morning. Now it goes to the editorial board for a thumbs-up or -down.

I'll keep you posted.

Making the Most of the Inopportune Moment

2006-02-13T09:19:00.000-08:00

Last night our church threw a Valentine's Day dinner/youth group fundraiser. Prime rib was served and childcare was provided. We were so there.

Between the entree and the cheesecake I had to go make room for an after-dinner coffee. I hated leaving Dina at the table alone, but, not being catheterized, I had little choice. Washing my hands in the men's room, I remembered a detail I'd forgotten to include in my revision, a certain sound effect that would pay off later. (Why I do my best thinking in the bathroom is beyond me.)

I dried my hands and wrote WAGNER CRASH on my left index finger (a convenient notetaking spot when a notebook or toilet paper spool isn't available). In the dim candlelight back at the table I don't think Dina noticed I'd been multitasking during our night out together. Whew!

Poem Published

2006-02-11T18:06:00.000-08:00

Online magazine Infuze has published my poem, St. Francis & the Birds.

The poem started as part of my WIP, from a scene where aspiring writer (and recent corpse) Maya Daniels is interviewed by magazine writer David Wagner. But the scene was too long/talky -- and the poem was too on-the-nose -- so that section was cut. Since the poem could stand on its own, I gave it a shot at Infuze.

While searching for synonyms for "omen," I came across "auspice," which technically means "observation of and divination from the actions of birds." Discovering that was the coolest part of revising the poem.

The New Deadline

2006-02-10T23:51:00.000-08:00

The one thing that really helped me write the first draft of my novel was The Deadline. 50,000 words in 30 days. Not 49,999 in 31. Not 500 and then get back to it when you feel like it. You've got a deadline, now meet it.

The Mt. Hermon Christian Writer's Conference this year has been my dream. My target. I just plunked down the deposit; and since 75 bucks is not only 75 bucks but also non-refundable, Mt. Hermon (beginning April 7) is now my deadline.

I wrote 74,000 crappy words in a month. I have just under two months to write about 40-50,000 good ones (I'm at 38,000 now; target length is twice that or a bit more).

Better get crackin'.

Halfway Home

2006-02-09T15:54:00.000-08:00

I just sent Chapter 10 out to my alpha-readers and outlined what's to come.

If I stick to the outline, there will be 19 chapters. Nine before Chapter 10, nine after. I'm also to the point where I'm no longer restructuring from a four-day story to a three-day.

The Mt. Hermon Christian Writers Conference is just over seven weeks away. It took me five and a half days to revise Chapter 10. (I don't even want to think about how long it'll take to incorporate and reconcile the suggestions of the alphas.) I've gotta hustle, and I don't mean disco-dancing.

Working With What's At Hand

2006-02-09T09:45:00.000-08:00

I know I haven't written anything here for forever, but that's because there hasn't been much to talk about. The rewrite is coming along slowly (I'm wrapping up Chapter 10 today) and critiques of previous chapters are coming in slowly as well. No insights or epiphanies about craft have landed on my doorstep. I've got one submission out, a poem for Infuze, and that's about it.

Last night I had an experience that borders on interesting (okay a wide river separates it and "interesting" but it's in the neighborhood at least), so let's light this puppy back up*.

About midnight I was in the, oh, let's call it the "reading room" for all you sensitive types, when an idea hit me for the end of the scene I had been struggling with earlier. It was an idea I'd origninally had in the car while driving to Wednesday night youth activities. The fact I hadn't written it down before and hadn't remembered it during the three hours I'd been writing meant I might lose it forever if I didn't write it down now.

So I grabbed my trusty sudoku/cryptogram/crossword pen and then noticed there was nothing to write on. Oh, there was paper, sure; but ballpoint pens and Charmin don't work well together. Then I noticed an empty cardboard tube in the trash. So I fished it out, tore it apart lengthwise and jotted down a couple paragraphs.

When the book makes me a big name on Oprah (stranger things have happened), I'll auction off the tube and the paper plate I originally wrote the epilogue on. Maybe even for charity. Or I'll save them for when San Jose State builds me an archive next to John Steinbeck's. Yeah, that's the ticket. Students of the future: seek vast understanding of technique and dedication from the famous cardboard tube. Good deal.

What's the strangest thing you've ever jotted down notes on?

*No puppies were actually lit up in the process of developing or posting this entry.

My Name In Print

2005-11-10T12:48:00.000-08:00

from Whitman's "Carol of Occupations"
Why, what have you thought of yourself?
Is it you then that thought yourself less?
Is it you that thought the President greater than you?
Or the rich better off than you? or the educated wiser than you?

Because you are greasy or pimpled, or that you were once drunk, or a thief,
Or diseas’d, or rheumatic, or a prostitute—or are so now;
Or from frivolity or impotence, or that you are no scholar, and never saw your name in print,
Do you give in that you are any less immortal?

It's not so much that I'm more immortal now, Walt, but I can hide my greasy, pimpled face behind my copy of The Wittenburg Door #202, which contains my name in print (twice! if you count the table of contents -- and I do), and which came in the mail today.

Tee-hee.

Reality, Fiction Collide

2005-11-09T14:01:00.000-08:00

Today through Friday (11/9-11/11) are the dates covered in my WIP. My guestimated weather isn't that far off. There's a warming trend today through tomorrow according to Weather Underground. I think I have temps 5-10 degrees (Fahrenheit) warmer, but it's nice to match the trend. UW shows things cooling off on the weekend with a chance of weather. In my WIP things get bitterly cold on Friday with a storm blowing in that evening. Again, not a perfect match, but it's not inconceivable.

Of greater concern is the possibility that something'll happen in the news that'll foul things up for my story (and whoever they foul things up for in real life, too, I s'pose). If the mystery bulge explodes, for instance. Or there's some scandal in high school 1A football. Terrorism's bad too. Statewide politics is quiet, no politics at all on the front page of the East Oregonian, so I can avoid factoring that in. I haven't specified the year, and have avoided dropping in overt technological references (no iPods or TiVo), so unless something unforeseen happens I should be safe.

Freebie For You

2005-11-07T11:15:00.000-08:00

Well, I just got the "thanks but" letter from McSweeney's. Disappointing, but more than offset by getting the Wittenburg Door check in today's mail (still haven't seen the print copy).

In the spirit of overwhelming generousity (and because I can't think of another market to send it to) I present:

If Roget's Thesaurus had an entry for "Snacktacular"

Belchificent
Chipticular
Crunchtastic
Fudgnormous
Haagendazzling
Keeblerific
Kremendous
Munchalacious
Nougatorius
Saraleeful
Tasty
Yumyumbular

Online, Soon To Be In-Print

2005-10-31T10:05:00.000-08:00

Someone's been drinking something funny over at The Wittenburg Door. Not only did they decide to print my article, God's Creation Blog, but they've made it available online as well.

This is my first fiction piece published anywhere outside of my blogs, so be sure to order multiple single copies of the TWD#202 and write nasty, nasty letters to the editor.

Here's what else's in issue 202; and if you haven't signed up for the bi-weekly Door Insider newsletter, do it now!

New Article Submission

2005-10-26T18:48:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I sent a list in to McSweeney's Internet Tendency under the heading of "If Roget's Thesaurus had an entry for 'Snacktacular.'"

Should my item be accepted it'll be among some of the funniest humor bits around, like:

I'll keep you posted.

October's Celebration of Christian Fiction Is Online

2005-10-18T08:39:00.000-07:00

Dee Stewart is hosting this month's Celebration of Christian Fiction on her Christian Fiction blog.

In addition to my piece, there are twenty-seven other entries in the Celebation this month. Pace yourself. You've got roughly thirty days 'til the next round, so don't wear yourself out at the starting line. Bookmark the page and read an entry or two every day or so. Still, do calisthenics first; it'll save you from trying to put Ben-Gay on your brain later on.

My entry is "The Legacy of 'Loco' Komoko", the short story I wrote last month. It's been mentioned here before, but if (for some reason, like hurricane evacuation or you had to clean the house because your in-laws were coming) you missed it the first time, now's your chance to enjoy it. If you've read it before, feel free to read it again. Live it up.

Handy Fact Sheet

2005-10-16T23:01:00.000-07:00

The fine folks at the Funeral Ethics Organization would like to see "ethical dealings in all death-related transactions by [their] working for better understanding of ethical issues among funeral, cemetery, memorial industry practitioners, law enforcement, organ procurement organizations, and state agencies, as well as better understanding between these and the general public."

I can get behind that. I mean, who'd want to get out and fight for unethical dealings? I'm not going to get their mission statement printed on a t-shirt, but y'know "Rock on, guys!"

The only reason I bring them up is they have a nice fact sheet listing Conflicts of Interest in U.S. Coroner Systems. Basically, it lists the requirements in the U.S. (and Canada ... let the annexation begin!) for coroners and/or medical examiners.

I've made my local mortician a deputy medical examiner. I think that's okay by Oregon's rules. If I discover in further research that a ME isn't required at the scene of a simple traffic fatality, Ron Campbell'll lose the magnetic placard on the side of his hearse. No need to complicate things and get nasty letters from FEO after they've been such a big help this evening.

Karma Junkie

2005-10-15T19:56:00.000-07:00

I was in town today after Phil's soccer game (see post here for more info) and before heading home I checked with Dina to see if I could bring anything back. I know the odds of her saying iPod or Playstation-2 are low but, still, I ask. Usually the answer's "whatever" and I have to threaten stopping at Whitefish Chalet (or Squid Hut or something equally unappealling to a seafood non-fan) before getting a straight answer. This time, though, she said Orange Chicken from Panda Express right off the bat.

Now the only Panda Express in town at Valley River Mall, and there's no "safe" way to get there. Entrance A takes you by the coin-op rides which overstimulate Phil. Entrance B takes you by the Victoria's Secret which overstimulates me. Entrance C doesn't take you by anything but it's too far to walk. That leaves Entrance D, which only goes by a Waldenbooks that hasn't had a good selection of discount books in forever, so it seems safe enough.

Wrong-o!

Outside the store was a cardtable with a stack of books for an author signing. I can think of fewer things sadder than an author signing at the mall. If I ever have to (get to!) do one I'm going to look into incorporating a dunk-tank theme that might actually draw attention and generate some side cash even if I don't sell any books.

In this case, though, the author did a good job of generating attention without a dunk tank. She was a Victoria's Secret model. Just kidding; actually she was dressed about as far from a VS model as you can get and not be Amish. The author was Shirley Tallman and she was dressed in an authentic Victorian-Era gown complete with bustle to promote her new Victorian-Era novel, The Russian Hill Murders. When we lived in San Jose, Dina volunteered at the Historical Society Museum (which has now been renamed History Park); I know second-hand how uncomfortable dressing up like that can be.

So I stopped to chat. It's what I'd like others to do unto me, so I figure I better start doing it to them first. Turns out I'd seen the book before at Borders and actually considered getting it. Now I had an opportunity to get the first book in the series Murder on Nob Hill, which is out-of-stock at retail outlets, and have it autographed as well. So I got it. Did I mention it was 20% off? Yeah, I got it.

And the Orange Chicken, too. 'Cause, you know, that's why I went there in the first place.

The Return of the Groove

2005-10-14T21:49:00.000-07:00

Writing the conversion story threw my WIP for a loop. While I never quite had the crisis of confidence Ian Merchant had in Ezekiel's Shadow (and if you haven't read it, do), I had a hard time not only throwing rocks at my characters, but treeing them in the first place (oh, I like you, how can I let any harm come to you? and you? I like you too...). A couple weeks of evening horror and suspense movies has got me revising and writing again (Memento is a great film to get re-warped with).

Tonight I just rewrote the first death scene. And threw in some Steely Dan, too.

Mwah-ha-ha-haaah!

Too Big To Kill

2005-10-06T08:53:00.000-07:00

or The 74,000 Word Monster That Ate My November

1816: A lone scientist works late into the night, creating life from inanimate tissue. Horrified by the result, he tries to destroy it. Too big to be killed, the monster escapes, leaving a trail of misery in its wake.

2004: A lone writer works late into the night, creating life on the stark landscape of the empty page. The result is horrifying. Too big to toss aside, the writer grapples with its ungainly adverbs and cadaverous verisimilitude, trying to cut ugliness down to the bone.

Last November I – and 42,000 other aspiring novelists – participated in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). Many would call writing 50,000 words in thirty days madness. I embraced my inner lunatic and managed 74,000.

How can you do it? Learn from Victor Frankenstein:

The Creative Spark: I had kicked my idea around for years, but The Deadline ignited my creativity. There’s nothing like pressure to focus your determination. (For more on the power of the deadline, visit nanowrimo.org.)

The Lab: I took time to personalize my writing space for the project. I thumbtacked potential cover art to a wall, along with a skeleton outline and support materials, making my little nook a special retreat.

The Assistant: Although Frankenstein worked alone in Shelley’s novel, there’s no reason you have to. Participate in nanowrimo.org’s messageboards. Support groups have been formed in many communities – join one.

The Monster: The 50,000 word beast is terrifying. Broken into thirty 1,667-word pieces, however, it becomes manageable. There will be days where you crank up the juice (my high was 4,482 words); there will be days when your feet drag (321 word low). Keep at it. You may be making something too big to kill, but you’re still the boss.

If you’re a new writer, here are some incentives to tempt you:

Habits form in twenty-one days. Stick with it for the first three weeks – you’ll have your writing habit formed – then skip a couple days for turkey and the post-Thanksgiving mob scene at the mall.

In On Writing, Stephen King says he shoots for 2,000 words per day. At 1,667 wpd, you’re knocking on his door.

If you’re outside the U.S., take heart. Like Frankenstein’s quest to recapture his monster, NaNoWriMo is international in scope.

If you’ve always wanted to write a novel but felt unsure of yourself, don’t despair. Remember the message of countless horror movies: “When you think you’re alone, you’re not.” Based on past trends, over 50,000 people will participate in NaNoWriMo in 2005; about 7,500 will finish. Aim on being among them.

Even if you fall short or your manuscript doesn’t hold together, you’ll still be in better shape than when you began. Within your manuscript you may find dozens of parts that can propagate short stories of their own or be grafted into other bodies of work. Dig in. NaNoWriMo may be just what you need to transform your lifeless ideas into living, breathing works of art.

Short Story Online

2005-09-28T20:32:00.000-07:00

Last week I submitted my short story for the conversion story contest.)

Others who participated in the contest have begun posting their stories online, so I thought I might as well, as well.

THE LEGACY OF "LOCO" KOMOKO

Enjoy!

Helpful Websites

2005-09-21T20:41:00.000-07:00

A trio of sites that have proved helpful in crafting Chapter Two of my WIP:

The list of breeds from the American Kennel Club (AKC)
Comparative climatic data from NOAA
Muggajava.com for all (well, most ... okay, many) things coffee

Learning What You Don't Know

2005-08-27T20:04:00.000-07:00

Writing my short story for Dave's Contest has taught me a few things.

First, it taught me a bunch of cool surfing lingo, courtesy of sites like riptionary.com.

It also taught me the difference between Neap and Spring Tides.

And it taught me about various divisions of an Air Force Wing.

Granted, it's not a lot of knowledge==not the stuff Jeopardy millions are made of. But then again, I don't want to learn too much and wind up like this guy.

17 Years and It's Victory Now

2005-08-22T20:40:00.000-07:00

It's been roughly 17 years since I metriculated into UC Santa Cruz with hopes of a degree in Creative Writing. I wound up with a BA in English Lit from San Jose State, but that's another story.

Still, I wanted to be a Writer.

It wasn't until last November that I finally got around to becoming one (hence, this blog). And it wasn't until this past Spring that I took steps to becoming an Author (also known as a published writer).

Back in June I submitted a short humor piece to The Door Magazine. I received word today that they would, in fact, like to publish it.

Technically, I'm not an Author yet, but I'm a heck of a lot closer than I was 17 years ago.

Happy Croatoan Day!

2005-08-17T15:12:00.000-07:00

According to reference.com, on this day in 1590, "John White, the leader of 117 colonists sent in 1587 to Roanoke Island (North Carolina) to establish a colony, returned from a trip to England to find the settlement deserted. No trace of the settlers was ever found."

This incident is key to my novel, so let's celebrate!

Who is Panhu?

2005-08-15T22:22:00.000-07:00

All the writing books offer the same advice: Since you never know when inspiration will hit, keep a notepad with you at all times; keep one on your nightstand, too. Being me--and related to the people to whom I'm related--I'm gonna learn the hard way.

And so, I spent forty-five minutes or so the other day trying to recover the ideas I had been so keen on earlier that morning before I got out of bed.

Since then I've kept a notepad on the nightstand. Used it a couple times, too. Like this morning: I got an idea about some mannerisms a character can use when he's uncertain if what he's seeing is real or if it's just "pink elephants." I reached over, grabbed a pen and scribbled away, then went back to sleep.

When I got out of bed, I looked at the notepad: Panhu bolked. I tried to remember what I had been thinking of when I wrote that down. No help (that's why I wrote it down, so I could forget what I was thinking). Who is Panhu and why is he (she?) bolking. And what's bolking mean? And can I write that without doing hard time in Purgatory?

Fortunately the next sentence cleared thing up. "Th grl was still thire."

Ah, yes. My resident Otis Campbell witnesses the coming-back-to-life of young Maya Daniels. He can't believe his eyes. How to test his vision for accurate perception of reality?

Paulie (aka Panhu; apparently he was a sherpa at some point in his backstory) blinked (or, bolked, in that special Himalayan way). The girl was still there.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: <sheesh>

Maybe there's a course I can take on semi-somnambu-scripting and improve my half-awake penmanship. If you know of one, please let me know.

First Draft Fun

2005-08-10T07:52:00.000-07:00

I was revising the first draft of my conversion short story (hey, we have side-bet taker) and I came across this luverly faux pas:

I brush a hand at a drowsy bee near my head. It flies off, buzzes down to the beach.

Aaaah, the joys of pronouns with unclear referrants.

Writing Contest Announcement

2005-08-05T21:23:00.000-07:00

Dave Long, acquisitions editor at Bethany House, has sponsored his second contest at his blog (don't know if this'll be an annual thing or not, but it's number two in as many years). Last December he held a Christmas short story contest. This time around it's for stories featuring a literal "come to Jesus" moment, conversion/salvation.

More details may be found on his website, but here are the most pertinent ones:

Rules (to this point, more may be added)
3000 words or less.
I have no definition for what a conversion story is, but we're talking about some Christian salvific experience. It also needs to be fiction, no autobiography or memoir.
Deadline will be Friday, September 30, 5:00pm central time. Earlier is appreciated. You can email your entry. One story per writer.
I haven't talked with anybody about partnering on this one, but I'll try to track somebody down. Let me know if you have suggestions or contacts at online journals.
There will be prizes for the chosen finalists. They will be more symbolic than impressive. Unless someone wants to give me a grant.
But remember, these things get read and a book contract emerged out of the last group.

If you're still reading this (as far as I know, most all the people who read this blog also hang out on Dave's site and already know about the contest and may have stopped reading), here's a special bonus. If you submit a story to the contest and include the word "cheese" (cheeses, cheesy, cheeseshop and other variants okay, too; cheesecloth, for some reason though, is not) and your story hits the top five, I'll send you a pound of Oregon's Tillamook cheese for every spot five or above your story lands (5th place=1 pound; 2nd place=4 pounds). Top place holder only (if 4th and 1st both qualify for the side bet, only 1st pays off). You must comment below before Dave's deadline that you're playing the cheese game to be eligible.

Have fun!

Section Quotes

2005-08-04T14:33:00.000-07:00

Well, I tentatively have section quotes for the three major divisions of Revival. They are:

(for "Welcome to Graphite" - Wednesday)
"Here we come walking down your street...."
                --Davy, Michael, Mickey & Pete

(for "Hymnsing" - Thursday)
"Pack up the babies and grab the old ladies, and everyone goes...."
                --Neil Diamond

(for "Revival" - Friday into Saturday)
"Preacher cried out 'Hell's been raised!' The preacher cried out 'Hell's been raised.' "
                    --Michael Been

They're not set in stone yet (does anyone actually still publish in stone outside the mortuary crowd?), but I'm comforable with them.

Unwelcome Knowledge

2005-07-30T15:12:00.000-07:00

I was working on revising my WIP yesterday, taking down some notes in the margin, when I realized I share the same initials as "Child Molester."

Eeeww!

Not exactly the sort of thing one is prepared to discover about oneself.

Professional Feedback

2005-07-11T23:23:00.000-07:00

I've secured my first bit of professional feedback on my plotting in Revival. I have a couple scenes involving EMTs, so I asked a friend of mine (who is, coincidentally, an EMT), if the scenes worked. For the most part they did (yay rudimentary internet research), but in one scene he pointed out that an ambulance wouldn't cart a dead body away in a small town ("dead people don't pay ambulance bills" was how he put it). Instead the director of the funeral home or mortuary would come and cart it off if there was no local medical examiner.

This bit of advice is fortuitous as it will introduce the funeral home director in Part One, paving the way for some characters' use of his funeral home in Part Three (otherwise it's a quick mention as Wagner cruises around town taking in the sights, which lacks narrative drive).

So I have the first name for my acknowledgement page(s). Anyone know an agent so I can have a second name to list?

Almost There ... Stay On Target

2005-06-17T15:27:00.000-07:00

I got another response letter for a MS submission today ... and it wasn't a rejection!

It's not quite an acceptance letter, either, though. Instead, it was a note saying the editor liked the piece and would bring in to his next editorial board meeting. That meeting takes place in August; yeah, that pretty much puts the aaugh! in August.

Still, it's encouraging.

In the Great Circle

2005-06-10T13:11:00.000-07:00

Friend and short-hair enthusiast Angie Poole has started up an online soap opera blog of sorts, In the Great Circle.

My first post, introducing my character and his problems, is here.

New Title Now, New Look Soon

2005-06-09T11:42:00.000-07:00

I've changed the title of this blog to focus on more than just the Revival WIP. Now it won't be so off-topic when I point out that I've just received my second rejection letter. (Which, by the way, I have -- I've got a second market in mind for the piece, so there should be a quickish turnaround.)

I'll change the look of the blog soon, too.

At least that's the idea.

Thick skin

2005-05-24T12:08:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been reading Some Writers Deserve to Starve! 31 Brutal Truths about the Publishing Industry. Yesterday morning I made it partway through the entry on critique groups (Truth #23: Not all critique groups are critique groups). I stopped off at the subhead "The Etiquette of Giving Critique" (p. 183 if you're following along at home), put my bookmark in and got on with my life.

A few hours later I got my first rejection notice.

Last night I picked up where I left off in SWDtS! and noticed the pull-quote just above the subhead: "Developing rhino skin is part of the process of becoming a writer." Anybody want to needlepoint that into a sampler for me?

Those you who know me know I love rhinos. Those of you who know of me through the faith*in*fiction message board or my blogspot message posts know that I use Spider-Man villain Rhino as my avatar (see left). If rejection is the means to the end of rhino skin development, then bring it on. (Publishing a piece now and again would be nice too, though.)

What's a guy have to do to get the cool rhino horns to grow?

Rite of Passage

2005-05-23T12:20:00.000-07:00

I got my first rejection letter (e-mail) today. While I'm not surprised, I'm a little bummed out (but only a little).

So this is what being a writer feels like.

And now, back to work.

Speaking the Language

2005-05-21T10:04:00.000-07:00

For years I’ve wanted to be a writer. I’ve not always wanted to actually sit down and write, but I’ve wanted to be a writer. I don’t think I’m alone in this. People like me/us keep publishing companies solvent by purchasing how-to and inspirational books whilst in the pre-writer phase. Among the many things I bought to persuade myself I was writerly* if not really writing were several annual subscriptions to Writer’s Digest Magazine.

Now maybe it’s me and maybe it isn’t (several letters to the editor have commented on how the mag has improved of late), but I always found the articles in WD a little too simple: Show Don’t Tell (of course not), Avoid Clichés Like the Plague (duh), Substantially Reduce Your Adverbs (you betcha). I’d come away from scanning an issue thinking: well I can do that, this writing thing’s not so hard after all. In fact, why even bother writing when I’ve got all this mastered?

Have I mentioned yet that I wasn’t actually writing much, if anything?

Now that I have a fat pile of MS pages on my desk, I see that it’s not as easy as I had thought. Wait! These are just pages of narrative telling, no showing in sight. Clichés are standing out like sore thumbs. And perhaps I too-hastily estimated my skill at eschewing adverbiage. Writer’s Digest not only makes sense now, but it makes a difference, too. So do the how-to books and the inspirational tomes.

They say to learn a language you need to immerse yourself in it. Not to get ecclesiological, but I used to be a sprinkler when it came to writing. Dribs, drabs, drips, drops. Whatever I managed to write failed to transform me from pre-writer to writer. Diving in the deep end last fall – now that did the trick.

I'm not kidding myself anymore, either. I know I’ve still got a long way to go. But at least now I’m speaking the right language. (Five points to me for rejecting the pun when writing the penultimate word in that sentence.)

And while I’m on the topic of speaking a common language, let me add that I’m enjoying reading Christian fiction as much as I’m enjoying writing it. Part of what led me to want to write in the Christian niche were the books in the late-80s/early-90s that presented salvation as just one more obstacle to overcome on the way to the big finale. It wasn’t always that blatant, and it didn’t enable the main character to call down holy fire to resolve the climax, but in book after book it was the means to the end. I didn’t care for it (on technical grounds; I was glad the character got saved, but it didn’t always serve the story well). Lately I’ve been immersing myself in modern Christian fiction and (largely) enjoying what I’ve found. There are a lot of well-written stories out there presenting the Gospel – or a Christian worldview – that are content to put it out there, but don't require a commitment by characters or readers by page 325. It seems the industry’s speaking my language. Whoodathunkit?

*Among the "101 unconventional lessons every writer needs to know" in Robert’s Rules of Writing, Robert Masello shares that it’s okay to “buy the smoking jacket” (Rule #56). Part of becoming a writer is wanting to be one. Not every kid who wants to be a writer (or tap dancer or ballerina or fairy-princess or veterinarian or what have you) will realize his or her dream. But it still starts with the dream. Don’t want to be a writer and odds are you won’t. Want to be one and maybe – just maybe – you will (perhaps you’ll even get published). I don’t feel enormously terrible about the years spent not writing (a little remorse, yes, but not a lot). What I’m doing now redeems them all. The pre-writer phase is over. The writer has entered the building (even if he wears a ratty bathrobe instead of a smoking jacket).

500 New Words

2005-05-13T23:23:00.000-07:00

Well, I fought off the impulse to start fresh on Monday and went ahead and wrote the new opening scene for Chapter One.

I like it.

It's still rough, but it does a couple things. It opens with action (it could use a bit more): David Wagner (formerly Graham) zipping around Graphite trying to find a newspaper box with a copy of the paper still inside it. He fails, and in failing reveals character. With the demon exiting Stage Left at the end of the prologue and Wagner entering solo in chapter one, I think there's a fair chance the reader might infer correlation (esp. since both have anger management issues). I hope so at any rate. (Of course you, dear blog reader, will miss out on the old switcheroo, but there'll be other surprises in store. Surprises galore, in fact.)

500 words. Not a lot, but it's a start.

Has This Been Done Yet?

2005-05-09T16:24:00.000-07:00

I cooked this [link removed] up this morning. I'm thinking it might be landable at The Door - if it hasn't already been done (I can't find anything like it, but their archives aren't the most extensive).

It's still a little rough, but I think with a nice faux Blogger or MT template it could be rather humorous (esp. with some nice fake google ads).

Gimme feedback if ya got it. [no one did. thanks for nothing]

Thanks.

[if anyone was curious about what this was about, e-mail me ... or subscribe to The Door, I'm gonna submit it]

[edited 5/18/05]

Working MyMind

2005-05-09T08:35:00.000-07:00

Another problem with the first draft of Revival was (is) that I lost track of characters. So-and-so's not in this scene, so what's it matter what (s)he's doing. Before long, the character had dropped from my radar completely, and stuff I had planned on them doing later got left out. So, in the rewrite (I've re-done the prologue, so I'm officially in it - yay!), I'm working harder to keep track of everyone.

I've tried writing notes with bits of narrative summary, but by the time you get to the end of the notes you've forgotten the beginning. I've tried making outlines by hand, but eventually there's no more space on the page to cram things in and half of what's written is illegible.

Last night, more on a whim than anything else, I did a VersionTracker search for Mac Outlining Software. One little freeware gem came up: MyMind 1.2. It makes very nice outlines (here are some screenshots) and is surprisingly intuitive to use.

I monkeyed with it a bit and came up with a sample outline for my first chapter. First of all, I love that I can insert a photo into the background. It may be completely irrelevant, but it's fun. One thing, though, that's very useful is that the outline map is interactive. By stretching the outline points over to the right, I was able to create a timeline of sorts. Changing colors specifies what gets written about and what exists as background info only.

Pretty handy utility.

Name Fixing

2005-05-06T18:02:00.000-07:00

My main character is getting a new name.

In the first draft he was David Graham, but while I was going through correcting typos I noticed several instances where I had typed the badguy's name, Gantt, instead of goodguy Graham's. And conversely. So, Ol' Dave is gettin' a new name (I think I'll leave other G-name-ster Tracy Greene alone for now).

Goodbye, David Graham.

Hello, David Wagner.

Cue strains of 'Kill the Wabbit, Kill the Wabbit, Kill the Wabbit, huh-huh-uh-huh'?

Naah, it'll be with the 'whuh' sound.

The Case of the Missing Newspapers

2005-05-05T18:41:00.000-07:00

One of the problems (which are legion) in the first draft is that my main character just showed up in Graphite and wandered around for a bit. Not the stuff of compelling fiction. So, let's give David Graham something to do and have him be in the middle of it when the story opens.

Solution: He's looking for a newspaper, but all the vending boxes are empty (for the sake of verisimilitude the paper's a regional weekly with a special 'local' insert that varies from town to town; a town of 1,000+ isn't going to have a daily paper). His routine: grab a paper, check into his fleabag motel, flip through the paper and then get down to business. So, Inkling #1 that something's wrong in Graphite will be the absence of the local papers.

But why have the local papers gone missing? That's been a stumper.

I've finally settled on State H.S. Football Championship Playoffs. It has a number of positives. First, it'd sell papers (so clippings can be sent to family and friends, framed in the living room, etc.). Second, it gives me a reason to have a fair chunk of people absent from town when things begin going pear-shaped. I don't have to write the star quarterback in as Rambo; I don't have to write cheerleaders at all. It also gives me a place to put Barbara Adams' daughter, Brandy (Babs isn't going to fall for Pastor Jim if her daughter's in jeopardy, so the girl'll be away cheering her pom-pons off and I don't have to worry about her).

So, the Graphite Pencilnecks (yeah, they need a better name), have advanced to the State-1A play-offs (this is the same division as my local school's team, the Triangle Lake Lakers (see, I don't have to make the name that much better)). Maybe they'll come and play the Lakers in the first round, or maybe it'll be the Arlington Honkers, the Adrian Antelopes, the Elkton Elks or the Huntington Locomotives (the Nixyaawii Community School Eagles are not eligible for state according to the info I found online, or else it'd be them for sure).

I've decided they'll have just beaten the Wallowa Cougars, who fared quite well in the 2004 playoffs. They should be quite proud of themselves. Pity they won't have much of a homecoming.

Constant Fun

2005-05-04T13:48:00.000-07:00

In naming the streets of Graphite, I decided upon the simple and oft-popular numbered streets (1st, 2nd, 3rd, etc.) for the roads heading off the main street (Parkman). There were two little glitches with that system: a tiny street between 2nd and 3rd and a longish street between 6th and 7th.

Now, I haven't planned any action to occur on either of these roads, so I'm positing that an early city planner was a math nerd with a sense of humor.

The little road is 'e' St. (mathematical constant e=2.7182818284...); the longish one is Avogad Rd. (Avogadro's number=6.02214199 × 10²³)

Welcome to Graphite

2005-05-03T10:50:00.000-07:00

Well, Eladnref, actually (that's Ferndale spelled backwards, in case you're not the type that automagically transposes oddly spelled words).

Last night was the first time in a long time I actually did more than noodle on Revival. I had printed out a bunch of close-up views of Ferndale, Calif., from Google Maps, cut them out and taped them together awhile ago.

Yesterday evening I scanned the map in, transposed it, and printed out a negative image of it (so streets would be darker than the surrounding buildings).

Here's a copy of that map.

Then I traced the paths of the streets and added a few more. Then I got to start placing things on the map: the church, the cemetary, some shops, the "fatal intersection," the high school, etc. Streets got named, keeping as close to what I had written in my first draft as possible (I was a bit ambitious in naming one of the streets 14th St., they only go up to 8th now). I think I got down everything I need.

Providential moment: As I was naming streets, I had everything named but Mill St. I looked around the map, searching for a spot to shoehorn it in. There was only one street left, a little one. But it was right on the river. Suh-weetness.

Now alls I need is a local event explaining why all the local papers are sold out and I can start the rewrite in earnest.

Bombs Away?

2005-05-02T16:52:00.001-07:00

Well, I've sent my first-ever non-fiction article off. It went to Writer's Digest by e-mail this afternoon at 1pm PDT.

I know there's no need to keep checking my Gmail account for a response (esp. since it's almost 8pm EDT), but that's what I'm doing every 15 minutes.

I need to get back to Revival. Hopefully tonight!

The Celebration Is On

2005-04-19T09:17:00.000-07:00

My entry to this month's Celebration of New Christian Fiction is immediately below. To see the entries from the other participants in, click here.

Enjoy.

on Motivating v. Preaching

2005-04-14T22:17:00.000-07:00

(this entry is part of a "celebration of new Christian fiction" that will take place on 19 April; on that date I'll have a link to find other participants in the fiesta)

A few years back BMW came up with a marketing campaign featuring Clive Owen and the many beautiful cars in the Beemer line-up. Clive was “The Driver” and he’s shown taking the cars through their paces in a variety of action-oriented stories (save a kidnapped woman from drowning, race to beat the Devil on the Vegas Strip, get Madonna to her gig on time, keep the Buddhist “Golden Child” safe). The movies were all directed by famous Hollywood types (John Woo, Tony Scott, Guy Ritchie, Ang Lee) and include famous co-stars (Maury Chaykin, James Brown, Don Cheadle, Mickey Rourke). The gist of the marketing campaign was buy this car, drive real fast, be cool, drive real fast.

A week or so ago there was a DVD insert in Entertainment Weekly – a movie for the new VW Jetta. It starred Joe Pantoliano. The film tells the story of Joey Pants’ character telling some schmo to grow up, get his life together, etc. Everything takes place in the schmo’s apartment. Eventually, Joe tells Schmo to lose the Jetta (we’re shown a late-model Jetta parked outside) and get a grown up car. Schmo gets on his 12” PowerBook and asks Joe if he means “something like this?” – a nice silver sedan. Joe says “yeah” and leaves. Then Schmo reveals that the silver sedan is the new Jetta (anyone else surprised? Me neither). Message: Get the new Jetta and fool people into thinking you’re a grown-up.

What’s this got to do with anything? The BMW films showed us why we want to buy their car. Jetta only told us. Granted, not getting whacked by Joey Pants is compelling, but avoiding pain is not nearly the motivator seeking pleasure is. Even though a Z3 is out of my price range, I still watch the BMW movies from time to time. I don’t know that I’ll ever watch the Jetta film again.

What’s the writing lesson here? The Show v. Tell implications are obvious. I’m sure the Jetta marketers felt they were showing us why to buy their product – and I’m sure there are folks in their early 30s who want to fake their way through getting their lives together that will respond. But the ad was preachy; it wasn’t motivational in the way the BMW ads were (and let’s be honest, “filmmaking” aside, they’re ads).

Beyond the Show and Tell, there’s also the nature of Metaphor v. Simile. Metaphor shows. Simile tells. Dave’s assistant Jim is golden. The church spire shone like gold. The BMW stands in for a lifestyle of excitement. The Jetta, like pyrite, is a poor substitute for the gold standard. Metaphor’s the real deal; simile not so much.

In writing to communicate the Gospel, we’ve got the same choices: Motivate or preach. Do we show “liberty in Christ” or tell a “don’t go to Hell” sermon? While there are flaws in the “Purpose-Driven” movement and I’m gonna scream before long if I keep hearing about post-modern “conversations” (it’s the term ad nauseum that’s the problem, not the engagement itself), the relational aspect of Christianity (relationship with God and relationship with others) is much more compelling than a didactic “God commands you to” approach.

Revival is in a middle ground. There’s some metaphorical “lifestyle evangelism”: a Lutheran sheriff, an ex-priest bookseller, a devout woman who runs a local B&B, kids enthusiastic about the revival meeting (for religious reasons as well as the change-of-small-town-pace it offers). There’s some "it's like, you know" preachiness, too – hard to avoid with a revival preacher on the scene. I’ve tried to soften the preachiness by showing it filtered through various characters’ reactions. I’ve tried to present both the local pastor and the revival preacher with good and bad sides; there’s conflict between the two men, hostility – easy answers and Christian unity aren’t so simple.

And then there’s humor. At one point, Pastor Jim and Barbara Adams are sharing a coffin to elude the zombies. Here’s a snippet from the first draft:

Bromfeld felt himself getting lightheaded, and not just because of the company. As the oxygen level inside the coffin diminished, his claustrophobia came back with a vengeance.

“Can’t breathe,” he gasped.

Cautiously Barbara raised the lid. Fresh air wafted in without the stench of the creature. “Coast’s clear,” she said, and opened the coffin more.

“Wait.” Bromfeld grabbed the lid and pulled it back down. “It may be in another room.”

Back in the dark, Barbara whispered. “Is that a prayer book in your pocket or are you just happy not to see me?”

“Prayer book? I’m not Episcopalian. Oh ... you mean ....” Bromfeld felt his face flush. He was certain red light was shining out of the coffin, a handy beacon for the creatures to find their hiding place.

“Actually, it’s a crucifix. I grabbed it when I ran out of the church.”

“Isn’t that for vampires?”

“I figured it couldn’t hurt for these guys. Undead should be undead, after all.”

They lay together in silence.

“By the way,” Bromfeld said, “I’m also happy to not see you.”

Barbara sighed.

“Because the scar bothers you.” It wasn’t quite a question.

“Hungh? No, I like the scar. I mean, I’m not glad you got cut like that.” Bromfeld took a deep breath. “I just mean with the present lighting conditions and all ... I’m happy here in the dark with you.”

“Oh – Haaappy. You’re not too bad looking, yourself. For a minister. In the dark.”

“Touché.”

She laughed.

Their first kiss was far from chaste.

(see here for a darker example of church and humor)

The purpose of the book isn’t to preach that you should become a Christian, and it’s really not motivational in that way either. It’s a baby-step book. Think Christians are all nutjobs? Think again. That sort of thing. The Bible’s there and the Gospel’s there, too, so it’s not impossible the Holy Spirit could use the book for life-changing purposes. I’d love for that to happen, but I’ve not invested myself toward that end.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Writer's Guidelines

2005-04-08T01:28:00.000-07:00

This is only tangentially related to Revival, but since you're here you might as well read it anyway.

"But Mr. Dent, the plans have been available in the local planning office for the last nine months."

"Oh yes, well, as soon as I heard I went straight round to see them, yesterday afternoon. You hadn't exactly gone out of your way to call attention to them, had you? I mean, like actually telling anybody or anything."

"But the plans were on display..."

"On display? I eventually had to go down to the cellar to find them."

"That's the display department."

"With a flashlight."

"Ah, well, the lights had probably gone."

"So had the stairs."

"But look, you found the notice, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Arthur, "yes I did. It was on display in the bottom of a locked filing cabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door saying "Beware of the Leopard."*

Finding the writer's guidelines for Writer's Digest at writersdigest.com is not quite that difficult.

Last year I wrote Revival during November's NaNoWriMo event. In a recent Writer's Digest "Creativity" special edition there was an article on NaNo. Unfortunately, it was a factoid-based piece, detailing the history of the event, but lacking any sense of how fun and/or frustrating it can be. The author hadn't hit the NaNo 50,000 word mark.

It was one of those things that makes you say: "Hey, I can do better than that." After all, I did 74K words in November. Surely I can write many fewer about my experience and encourage others at the same time.

Step One: Have an idea. Done

Step Two: Check writer's guidelines to make sure you stay on the right track. Uh-uh, not so fast.

If you go to writersdigest.com you'll see a little sidebar over on the right. First item in sidebar: Writer's Guidelines. Click it and you're taken to a page advertising writersmarket.com, a service that compiles the guidelines from a plethora of publications and will let you access them for a fee.

Part way down the page there's a "click here for an example" link. Aaah, well they've used their own publication as a sample for the service. How synergistic of them. <Click> Nope, it's Atlantic Monthly.

Well, there's a little search field. Let's try that. Writers Digest. Nothing, huh? Wait, did I forget the apostrophe? That's the ticket. Brings up the magazine and the book publisher. Click on magazine. Hmmm ... brief snippet, says they prefer e-queries but doesn't list the e-mail address. Not as bad as discovering the stairs are out, but not exactly helpful, either.

Back to the home page and start again. Click on "Writer's Digest Magazine" on the left-hand index. Subscription form. But I am a subscriber. Dang.

Try the "Get Published" horizontal menu item. Nope. But wait, there're little links at the bottom of the page. One is "contact us" ... well, that's what I want to do, isn't it?

<Clickaroo>

Ooooh, under Writer's Digest Books there's a "writer's guidelines" link. Click. Back to the Writer's Market ad. Double dang.

Job Opportunities at the bottom of the page? Bit of a stretch, but <click> Yeah, like I said, it was a bit of a stretch. Plenty of career ops east of the Rockies; that's good to know.

Well, at the bottom of the page is an "about us" link. Let's find out if the Vogons are behind this. Better yet, let's find out if the Dentrassis designed the website for the Vogons in between food-service shifts.

<Click Ahoy!>

Aha! In the middle of the page: About writersdigest.com ... link for "writer's guidelines." No, wait; "a searchable database of 'writer's guidelines'." Not gonna fall for that again if I can help it.

About our magazines. Subscription link. Where to buy. Mailing Address. "See the Writer's Digest 'writer's guidelines'."

Wait! Could it be? Is it the locked filing cabinet in the disused lavatory at long last? There's no "Beware of the Leopard" poster, but let's give it a try.

Yes! We have Success!

If you've played the Infocom text-adventure version of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, this is like getting the babel fish in your ear. It's like having tea and no tea at the same time. It's like figuring out what you're supposed to do with the lint.

If that makes no sense to you, play the Java version of the game here, or the Flash version, here.

Step Three: Write the thing. Well, after finding the writer's guidelines, how hard can that be?

Step Four: ?????

Step Five: Profit!

NB: This entry was written is a spirit of fun and great affection for Douglas Adams, Writer's Digest Magazine, the BBC, and the whackos on Slashdot who introduced me to the steps 4 & 5 bit. No offense is intended and I should be highly disappointed if any were taken by any of the aforementioned entities.

*The above passage was written by Douglas Adams, who, if he has a problem with my misappropriation of his copyright, can cease pretending to be dead for tax purposes and write me a cordial letter expressing his concern.

Burgeoning Conflict

2005-04-06T23:14:00.000-07:00

Of all the things I hate, Jerusalem crickets and conflict are at the top of the list (Brussels sprouts and cooked cauliflower are close behind).

My solution to the bug thing and my conflict issues is simple: Avoidance. I last saw a Jerusalem cricket in 1989 on the campus of UC Santa Cruz (well, except for the google link above <shudder>). Conflict comes up more frequently, though. I'm not talking about arguments, those I can handle fine. It's the actual interpersonal (and inner-personal) strife I have problems with. Cold shoulder meet Mr. I. Give-In.

Consequently, I have a hard time developing conflict in my stories. Revival is filled with scenes, occasionally whole chapters, that are little more than information-divulging vignettes. I think they're interesting (I'm biased, I suppose). They're anecdotal. They're conversational. But, zombie chapters aside, they're not very conflictive.

I think I do a fair job building the conflict between the main character and the revival preacher. Unfortunately, that's resolved midway through the book. Of course, everything takes a hiatus when the dead walk the streets, but there's not much of a tie between the first two-thirds of the book and the denoument.

There is, however, a vestigal conflict between the main character and his unseen boss that can be developed. Right now it's about his boss's tight-fistedness and it dies pretty early on. But I think it can grow. I mean, how excited can a guy be about researching the "ninth-most-livable city in Oregon"? Who's to blame? Well, the lout who gave him the assignment, of course. A more complex conflict will also tie in nicely with what's now kind of throw-away line at the end of the book.

They say that awareness of a problem is the first step to recovery. I can't say I ever see myself relishing real-life conflict, but knowing my weakness has helped me spot it in my story. Will it work? I think it has potential. There are a few other things in secondary plotlines that can be enhanced, too.

We'll see.

Two and a Half Steps Forward, Half a Step Back

2005-04-02T23:29:00.000-08:00

As I get started to begin thinking about moving into full-rewrite mode, three things have come to me to improve the story.

1) Gantt's nightmare: In the draft, Gantt is half a day away from Graphite as the story opens. He has a nightmare where his doppelganger (his "demonized" self) reveals the town of Graphite to him. Now, with Gantt already in town when the action begins, the dream needs to change. So, now Gantt has the nightmare where his reflection in the mirror is out of sync with his body (I hate this nightmare). Usually the reflection is slightly behind, and when you realize something's wrong, that's when the "reflection" attacks. In Gantt's case, the reflection is a quarter second ahead and, far from wanting to attack the reflection, Gantt runs from it. Except that the doppelganger is a half step ahead of Gantt as he catches his reflection in mirrors, shop windows, etc. The purpose of the dream is to reveal (in the original it was fairly explicit, here it's more implied) that N'Vonecz is linked to Gantt. The implication here is that the doppelganger is leading Gantt, and even if Gantt tries to escape, the "other" is still in control.

2) When the zombies come to Ma Carter's boarding house, the lead zombie is her husband, Samuel. This is never explicitly stated, but will hopefully be conveyed by his string tie (mentioned in a photograph) and wedding band. To convey his identity through literary means, as he enters the bedroom he'll be stepping over "the threshhold," as husbands are wont to do.

3) Here's the half step forward, half step back: After Barbara Adams (formerly Brooke) is attacked, the boys in the bar "disappear" her attacker. She's told that he ran off while everyone was distracted getting her on her way to Pendleton, but it's pretty clear in the retelling of the story that that's not what happened. So ... dead accountant-type guy + zombie story = dead accountant guy comes back with a score to settle. Now in the rewrite it's clear that Gantt's tombstone rubbings are key to the reanimation of the corpses ... except accountant-type guy doesn't have a tombstone. So how's he come back? We know there's an empty grave in the cemetary (one of Ma Carter's sons didn't come back from Korea or Viet Nam), so the accountant could be buried there. Or he could be buried under the bar, which would mean Gantt would have to do a rubbing of the brass historical marker outside The Point to zombify him. Both are rather convoluted (hence the step back). Still thinking on this one.

Three Times Better

2005-03-30T15:24:00.000-08:00

One of my characters has been named Brooke Adams - a name with two problems. First, there seems to be a prejudice out there against characters named Brooke, and I don't need anything more going against my manuscript other than the fact that I wrote it. Second, Mrs. Tony Shalhoub is named Brooke Adams, and as some unpleasant things happen to my character I would hate for them to take it personally or for things to be prophetic. Tech Sgt. Chen has been through enough.

So Brooke Adams meet Barbara Adams.

No irrational prejudice.

No lawsuits from the Shalhoubs.

Plus - the third good thing about the switch - I can now use the legendary zombie movie line "They're coming to get you, Barbara" at some point in the story.

Yay. Yay. Yay.

Ferndale 2Night

2005-03-28T22:23:00.000-08:00

It dawned on me over the weekend that I was using my memories of Ferndale, Calif., as my guide for Graphite. I downloaded a couple maps ( 1 2 ) and the street layout doesn't work (a simple grid makes things easy), but it's good to know where the church and graveyard came from.

Walk Like a Zombie, Talk Like a Zombie

2005-03-19T09:34:00.000-08:00

I'm down to the final four sections of my manuscript, and I've encountered my first instance of zombie point-of-view. Let's just say I didn't nail it in my first draft. Not that I was trying to, but still ... nowhere close.

I'm thinking the zombies can't have the same objective narrative style as the other characters.

"The zombie pushed open the door. Encountering an obstacle, it pushed harder, leveraging the door open with its body. The cheap hollow-core door began to crack. One more push. The door broke in two. The zombie was in."

That's not an actual excerpt, but it's indicative of the problem. Do zombies use words like "encountering," "obstacle," "leveraging"? Can they distinguish between hollow-core wood and steel fire doors? If so, can they articulate the difference? Do they use complex sentences with multiple subordinate clauses? Not any that I've known.

So now I need a style that's primitive, feral even. Simple words. Simple sentence structure. Perhaps fragmented stream-of-consciousness -- once I figure out what passes for zombie consciousness.

Should be fun.

Let's Do The Time Warp Again ... For The First Time

2005-03-11T19:21:00.000-08:00

I'm almost done with my first pass edit through my manuscript and two things have become painfully apparent.

The first is one that I've known all along: too much dialogue, not enough stage direction/interior monologue. Now, not all of the dialogue needs to stay -- probably half of it can go -- which means there will be less need for stage direction, which in and of itself doesn't add a whole lot to the book, but it may make the reading experience more enjoyable if the passages of dialogue are broken up a bit (sort of like this sentence could have been broken up a little bit).

The other thing has nagged me off and on, but as I'm nearing the end it's becoming obvious that the story is spread over too much time. It opens on Tuesday afternoon and ends sometime Saturday morning. That's simply too much time for anyone to spend in Graphite, Oregon, that doesn't have to be there (and until Revival makes it onto a college syllabus, no one is required to be there).

So the idea I'm toying with is to cut about 18 hours from the book. Instead of opening at 3p on Tuesday, it'll open at 9a on Wednesday. All the ancillary events (the girl dying and being brought back to life, the graveyard clean-up, etc.) will pretty much stick to the same schedule -- I really don't want to shift the Sheriff again. Graham's interview schedule, however, will be considerably compressed (and any interviews that are unnecessary can more easily be cut) and the pace ought to pick up as well.

When I get done with the first pass, I'll take a week or so off to rework the timeline, draw a city map, figure out the obvious cuts, etc.

It shouldn't be all that difficult. After all, It's just a jump to the left. And then a step to the right. Put your hands on your hips ... and so on.

Then comes the actual rewrite. Less easy, but if things flow better it ought to be a lot of fun, although I'll miss being driven insane by the pelvic thrusts. Oh well....

(Here are the lyrics to The Time Warp from Rocky Horror Picture Show in case you've missed the pertinent pop-culture references in the above entry.)

Soundtrack Snippets

2005-03-03T18:22:00.000-08:00

One of the things I've always liked about Stephen King's writing is that on major section-break pages he lists 1-3 snippets of song lyrics that have something to do with the action coming up in the next section. I know other authors do it, but I encountered it first with SK, so he gets the credit (another author who makes good use of introductory quotes is Chris Well in Forgiving Solomon Long).

Since its inception, Revival was always going to have a snip from The Call on the separator page for the final section:

"Preacher cried out, 'Hell's been raised!'
The preacher cried out, 'Hell's been raised!' "
--Oklahoma (The Call)

I'm looking at a snip from Simon & Garfunkel to open Day 1:

"I can gather all the news I need on the weather report."
--The Only Living Boy in New York (S&G)

And for either the Day 2 (Maya dies and comes back to life) or Day 3 (Hymnsing):

There are rumors about the bank account,
Affairs and double dealings
But faith sneaks up like a mischievous child,
And you find yourself believing
I could be deceived, but I believe
That I just got a healing from

Evangeline
Evangeline
(don't know what's really there inside of her)
Revival queen, Evangeline
(does a miracle occur somehow in spite of her?)
--Evangeline (Daniel Amos)

Possibly just the chorus on the Evangeline quote, who knows?

That's where I'm at right now. I still need five or so more, but it's early yet.

Don't Say the "Zed Word"

2005-03-03T15:44:00.000-08:00

Well, I've watched my ~~zombie~~ living-dead movies and learned a couple things. First, as I've indicated twice in this post, the Z-word is out. Second, for as much as is made of the living-dead thriving on fresh brains, both films went with the ultra-gory throat and torso gut shots over the skull-cracking, goo-chewing route.

Both of these revelations are fine by me.

Technically, what I have in Revival are reanimated corpses, which is in keeping with its HP Lovecraft/"Herbert West" origins. Nobody's eating anybody. Killing for sport, on the other hand....

I liked seeing the fast-moving creatures in the Dawn of the Dead remake. Mine don't move that fast, but they're still fairly fast. If you're sufficiently motivated and have room to move you could get away from one on foot, but if you get yourself cornered or get a side-cramp all bets are off.

Finally, with the Z-word being out, I can have a nice dialogue exchange about that fact to break tension at some point.

Research Project

2005-02-27T16:17:00.000-08:00

I picked up a zombie double-feature today at Freddy's: a shrinkwrapped two-fer of last years' Dawn of the Dead and Shaun of the Dead. The DotD disc is the "Extended Version TOO SCARY for theaters"; Shaun is billed as "A smash hit romantic comedy. With zombies."

I'll have to check with my sister Julia (CPA) and see if I can write them off next tax season.

Regardless, it's time to rustle up some hot buttered ~~brains~~ popcorn and dig in.

New Writing Workstation

2005-02-26T11:53:00.000-08:00

If you don't frequent my other blog you might have missed this post. And, even if you started reading that post, you might have given up before you got down to the part about my new computer workstation.

So, since I cross-posted about Dark Cloud Press on the regular blog, I'm posting the pertinent workstation info here.

* * * * *
[Phil and I went] to Fred Meyer for an hour of unsupervised playtime ... I mean an hour of Phil being supervised by someone other than myself, while I roam free tipping 20 oz. Diet Pepsi bottles to find the winning iTunes caps. I moseyed over to the furniture department where I've been speculating on the notion of an idea of buying a computer workstation for the past month or so. For the past month my laptop has been on a catch-all card table in the computer room. It's worked okay, except for the fact that everything got piled on the table and staking claim to two square feet of it was a daily chore. When the purpose of the table is to catch everything, you can hardly fault it for doing its job; still it wasn't a very good working relationship. That arrangement also meant that I had to do my proofreading over on the couch, balancing loose pages and notebooks in my lap, and then clear another square foot of space to key the changes in. So, in the spirit of new adventures, I bought the table and managed to set it up last night without expressing myself with colorful metaphors (although I'm going to be keeping an eye out for an allen-wrench attachment for my socket set).

Here are a couple pictures:

Laptop View
Editing View
(the laptop and mouse are below the desktop on the keyboard tray)

As the second photo shows, the keyboard tray makes a handy space for the laptop when I'm dealing with paper. There are two small shelves on the outside of the the desk legs that are designed for CPU and printer storage, but I've got books and magazines on them. I'm thinking of rigging some hooks to the metal honeycomb grid on the legs and back of the desk store camera and PDA cables when they're not in use. The only disadvantages I've seen so far are that a) the glass desktop was not sprayed with a fingerprint/smudge resistant chemical before it left the warehouse (note to self: buy stock in Windex) and b) the optical mouse doesn't track on glass, so I'm using an old Dell mousepad which clashes with the Apple Powerbook. The glass does dissapate the heat generated by the laptop, so I suppose that's a good tradeoff.

Snarky Dialogue

2005-02-25T15:07:00.000-08:00

One of the advantages to being snarky is that it's been easy for me to write snarky dialogue for my characters. Here are a couple examples:

Marci Duchamp, momentarily stymied by who to call and share what happened to Maya, decides to call saintly Lorraine "Ma" Carter.

Later Maya's mother calls her ex when she finds out that he's been given a particularly wrong version of events. As they are adults, Richard and Geri use "adult" language -- beware!

Granted, it's not Chaucer and it could use some non-dialogue-oriented narration, but I like the snippiness of it all.

No More New Friends

2005-02-25T14:50:00.000-08:00

Well, I toughed it out and worked on the "Grapevine" chapter this morning. As with everything else, this chapter -- occuring immediately after Maya Daniels is brought back to life and showing the mutation of the facts as the "story" gets further and further away from eye-witnesses -- needs significant work. It's written from an omniscient viewpoint with intrusive narration. The idea of the chapter is good, it just needs reworking, including possibly being divided into three much shorter chapters.

It also marks what I think will be last case where new characters are introduced. We get a lot of new names here, 17, some of which will never be heard of again, but a few that will play significant roles in future events -- Maya's dad, Richard, for instance. We'll meet the spouse of one of the characters introduced here at the end of the next section, but he's basically just a prop and later zombie fodder. We haven't met Mrs. Olson, Jacob's mother, in the flesh yet, either, but we know she exists. Gantt's roustabouts are shown prior to this, just not named. I need to find a way to introduce the Calculus teacher, Mr. Prentiss, before this point; he's the last of the new characters that get introduced.

It's kind of an infodump of names, but the variations in The Saga of Maya Daniels should keep folks reading (I hope!).

Where I Been?

2005-02-25T10:04:00.000-08:00

For the past several days I've been fighting a cold, well not fighting so much as succumbing. Lack of sleep leaves me tired in the morning, the cold leaves me exhausted by mid-afternoon. Come evening, I'm pretty much incoherent.

Consequently, Revival has sat pretty much untouched for the past two or three days. With Phil off to preschool for the next couple hours, I might take a stab at reviewing another chapter this morning.

I did do a little work on the Prologue yesterday afternoon. I've posted it over at the faith*in*fiction message board on a thread devoted to (primarily) opening scenes. It's down toward the bottom of the page (do a find/search for "revival" and it should get you there).

If I don't pop a couple Vitamin C's and go back to bed, I'll hopefully have something to post here later on today.

Wait and see.

A Home for My Baby?

2005-02-22T22:34:00.000-08:00

I received an e-mail today from a writer friend who knows about this project.

It said, "Here's something you don't see everyday: A publisher seeking 'horror, dark crime & psychological thrillers' written from a biblical worldview ..."

With a link to: Dark Cloud Press.

He excerpted some of the details from the page.

MISSION

Dark Cloud Press seeks to publish fiction with biblical values for the secular market. The name of the company comes from 2 Chronicles 6:1: "The Lord has said that he would dwell in a dark cloud."

The mission of Dark Cloud Press is to entertain readers by publishing meaningful and decent high quality trade paperback fiction in the genres of horror, dark crime, and the psychological thriller.

VALUES

Dark Cloud Press cleaves to these values in fulfilling its mission:

To publish fiction, although dark, of moral meaning and decency that stands in contrast to the rest of the market.

To pave a way in the publishing industry for work marginalized or ignored by mainstream publishing, whether secular or Christian.

To publish and promote the work of talented new and existing writers who are committed to the values of Dark Cloud Press in all their writing.

To publish powerful stories that are both entertaining and thought-provoking. Manuscripts will be selected and books published based on these values toward the fulfilling of Dark Cloud's mission.

I'll let you check out the rest at the website.

I e-mailed him back with the comment that now I'll have to finish the thing ... and send it in.

<Yipes!>

In other "sending it in" news, I sent "Gift of the Mad Guys" off to this publisher over the weekend (should it be accepted it'd be included in the book at the bottom of the page).

Writing Close to Home

2005-02-16T23:09:00.000-08:00

Tonight I reviewed a chapter that, as far as I recall, is the first instance where I used a real-life incident as the basis of a scene in the novel. The chapter opens with good-veterinarian/bad-mayor Ed Jackman putting Abby Kamarsky's pet cat Bootsie to sleep. The writing's fairly shallow, but I tried to remember the basics of what happened almost five years ago when Dina and I had to put Mandy, our Sheltie, to sleep. Ms. Kamarsky goes a bit hysterical after Jackman leaves the room; that happened, although we didn't sob "Boooooooot-seeee-eeeee-eeeee," (or "Maaaaaaaan-deeee-eeeee-eeeee") as she does in the novel. Still, tears and snot did flow freely for quite awhile.

In other close-to-home writing news, as I was nearing home tonight after Wednesday church activities, I came up with a new opening line for Chapter One. There was a piece of paper towel on the passenger seat (don't ask why), so I grabbed it, positioned it in the center of the steering wheel and, as I drove along at 55mph, wrote: "David Graham was a man possessed." Not brilliant, I know (especially as I was approaching a hairpin turn), but it immediately follows the Prologue which covers a demonic plot of some sort (it's intentionally vague). I'd like it to not be immediately clear who the agent of the demon N'Vonecz is, though it'll probably be spoiled by the back-cover synopsis. If nothing else, it'll help me set the pace and tone as Graham tears around Graphite looking for a newspaper. If I lose the line later, that's fine, as long as the pace and tone get established properly.

Shifting the Sheriff - Again

2005-02-15T22:30:00.000-08:00

Poor Sheriff Woo. It looks like he's going back to Day Three again. I reread the chapter completely tonight and there are several plot threads that would have to be cut or severely diminished if the incident occurs on Day Two.

The main benefit I had seen earlier in the month for moving the scene had to do with Jacob appearing ambivalent around Graham - Jacob can't figure out whether to trust Graham or whether Graham is some kind of child molester (why else would an out-of-town grown-up want to hang with a 15-year-old boy?). I think I can work Jacob into the scene where Graham interviews the high school principal at the beginning of Day Two. I can beef up Day Two with Graham doing some photography stuff if necessary, depending on what else I come up with that Graham needs to express to the reader thematically or about the town to make writing such a scene pay off.

For the record, the benefits (as I see them now) to the sheriff scene coming on Day Three include: discussion of using "community service" to pay off fees and fines, the possible con artistry of Gantt, and the scene ultimately segues into Graham going to interview Gantt with a chip on his (Graham's) shoulder. None of these is the primary reason for the chapter - to find out a) what happened to Jacob's dad and b) to prompt Woo to find Gantt's backstory and c) to further the subtheme of "stereotype and identity" - but they help camoflauge that material.

It also gives Jacob a reason why he can't say goodbye to Maya before she leaves for the hospital in Pendleton, an issue that pops up on Day Four and begins the action for the zombirific finale.

Character Development

2005-02-13T20:59:00.000-08:00

This morning I was reading Sol Stein's On Writing*, the chapter on revision. Among the paragraphs I read was one that talked about showing that your protagonist had undergone change in his life over the course of the novel. Thankfully, I had already done some of that: Graham deals with the death of his mother and, to some extent, his rejection of God.

But Stein reminded me of another thought that had been meandering through my noodle the last week or so: a reporter's objectivity. Granted, Graham's a feature writer and not a straight reporter, but he still needs to maintain some objective edge in his work. As I reread the chapters I was working on last week, I noticed that edge was growing dull. Rather than eliminate his laxity altogether, I think I'll just have him be concerned about it, redouble his will to keep himself an observer rather than a participant, and then shoot it all to heck in the zombie attack. If nothing else, it's a thread that can get carried along in the story's narrative.

This idea - neutral objectivity - also popped into my weekend mystery. My protagonist, reporter Henry Seger, doesn't get along with his boss, managing editor Jonathan Prynce. Prynce assigns Seger to a story Seger doesn't have time for.

Seger resists, Prynce insists. (I doubt there will be any rhyming in the actual novel.)

It turns out that the story involves the apparent suicide of his friend and co-worker, Walter Damson. Seger is convinced, as mystery protagonists often are, that Damson's death wasn't as simple as it appears. Prynce tries to stop Seger from wasting time on it, but Seger is eventually proved right. At that point Prynce yanks the story away and gives it to another reporter because Seger is "involved" in the story, which, of course, he is. Prynce is right in taking such action - the fact it torks Seger off is a nice bonus, though.

The fact that Seger keeps working the story after hours surprises no one. This, of course, torks off Prynce - and so the circle of life is made complete.

*I picked up my copy at the Book Warehouse store in Gilroy, California's outlet mall for a whopping $5. Good deal, me.

Late Night Revelations

2005-02-04T14:11:00.000-08:00

As I was drifting off to sleep last night a couple thoughts hit me.

First, how to have Sheriff Woo appear on Day 1 (Woo's the only major secondary character not to make an appearance on Tuesday): David Graham eats dinner at a local restaurant named Cabron's (Spanish for "Goat" - oooh, Satanic imagery). A few days ago I realized something needs to happen while he's eating there. Enter Sheriff Woo.

Right now it looks like Graham will have parked his Escort (no imagery in the car name that I'm aware of) on a slight incline and neglected to set the parking break or curb his tires, and the car rolled backwards and stopped in front of a fire hydrant. Seems this sort of thing happens all the time, so Woo comes in to the restaurant rather than ticketing the car. It gives me a chance to briefly show something about Woo and maybe have him comment on Mayor Jackman (who has blocked motions to have "please set parking break" signs placed around town where this sort of thing occurs; Jackman'd rather have Woo write tickets and generate some income - Woo isn't that kind of cop). It also sets up the notion that "appearances can be deceiving."

That message is also borne out in the final chapter of Part 1, Gantt's dream. In the rough draft I just detailed the dream, but didn't shoot for an eerie or scary effect. As I jotted down notes last night on how to fix the chapter, that was one of the obvious things to hit in the rewrite.

The second thing that hit me at bedtime last night was that Gantt has had this dream twice before (once before each of the previous revival meetings which didn't end in zombie attacks). So this time Gantt's not just apprehensive about what's happening, he's downright resistant ... but he gets dragged along anyway. I think that'll help build tension and not have the dream just be sightseeing with symbolism.

I should go to bed more often - maybe five or six times a day.

I Shift the Sheriff

2005-02-03T21:15:00.000-08:00

The section of the story where David Graham meets Sheriff Woo has returned to its original location on Wednesday. Not that I'm anywhere near working on Thursday - or Wednesday. I just finished with Tuesday this evening and realized that the chapter needed to move back to where it started in the outline.

I originally moved it to Thursday so it would give Graham something to do in the late afternoon and he could talk to the sheriff more specifically about Gantt and his possible intentions for the town. But those are lame reasons to delay meeting Graphite's Top Cop for another day (I'd like him to at least have a walk-on role on Tuesday, but where and when I don't know yet).

The advantages to a Wednesday interview include the opportunity for Jacob to appear sullen around Graham, which gets set up on Tuesday night. Also, Wednesday was looking pretty thin, so this'll bulk that section of the book up a bit. Plus Graham asks Woo to look into Gantt's past and this'll give him an opportunity to do that without dropping everything to handle an out-of-town writer's request.

All-in-all, I think it makes the story better.

Then again Woo didn't start unpacking after I relocated his chapter, so maybe he knows something I don't.

Naming Names II

2005-02-01T13:01:00.000-08:00

As I'm going through my manuscript, I'm noting the names I've used for characters. Mainly I'm doing this so I don't repeat names or use too many similar names (I named two different secretaries "Shirley," so this'll help me catch problems like that).

A couple nights ago, the daughter of Brooke Adams (owner/operator of a local bar, The Point) was mentioned. In the rough draft the girl was named Ashleigh. Now I don't know the names of a lot of the teen-agers in our rural community, but there is (at least) one Ashleigh. As far as I know, beyond the mention Ashleigh never appears in the book, but Brooke, her mom, plays quite a big role. So, to avoid speculation that book-Ashleigh's mom is based on real-Ashleigh's mom (she isn't), I needed to change her name.

Initially I changed the name to Mandy. Dina and I had a Sheltie named Mandy and as far as I know that's the only Mandy I've ever known (Amandas excepted). So that was safe.

And while it was safe, it didn't really make a difference in the story. Mandy Adams could be left out completely. And if Brooke Adams' daughter is never mentioned, then key information about Brooke herself never gets delivered. So how to make a non-existent character significant?

Later, in the Maya Daniels story arc, we have a mother (Geri Aguilar) feuding with her ex-husband (Richard Daniels). When Geri takes Maya to the hospital in Pendleton, she checks Maya in under Aguilar (her maiden name, which she went back to after divorcing Dick). Richard, who has anger management issues, gets steamed about that and takes out his rage on the revival preacher (big mistake).

So, could that conflict be pre-reflected in the case of the Adamses?

Last night I decided to change Brooke's daughter's name to Brandi. Brooke runs a bar, and the notion of a bartender's daughter being named Brandi struck me as twisted and wrong. Something a spiteful soon-to-be-ex might name a girl while her mother was recovering from a C-section, for instance.

It's a small point and gets dealt with quickly, but ideally it'll resonate later on.

Back from the Dead

2005-01-27T21:53:00.000-08:00

Okay, I wasn't dead, but I did take a few days off at the conference.

Tonight I worked on the chapter where David Graham checks into his hotel. The chapter needs work - as do all of them. Like the others, this one suffers from a lack of motivation: Graham is just doing stuff. I've made a note to have Graham purposefully seek out the park where the revival meeting will be held as opposed to just stumbling upon it.

The chapter also marks the first instance of what seems to be the book's theme: the difference between the outward appearance and the true nature of things (you thought it was about revival? don't be silly; that's just there for the zombies). Graham expects Ma Carter's Boarding House to be a seedy dive; instead it's a bed & breakfast in an immaculate Victorian house.

I'm currently reading a book on revising fiction and it asks "Have you appropriately used contrast" and other writerly questions. Imagine my surprise when - lo and behold - I found Graham reviewing his expectations for the boarding house furnishings: "...and a dresser only wide enough to hold change, keys ... and a long black plastic comb with several missing teeth" followed two paragraphs later by a description of the actual boarding house: "An immaculate emerald lawn spread out in front of it, surrounded by a white picket fence."

The contrast between the seedy comb and the picket fence (and expectation v. reality) is the kind of thing the book was talking about ... and it was in my story without even trying.

Yay!

Naming Names

2005-01-23T23:10:00.000-08:00

I've finally (tentatively) settled on a name for the park where the Revival meeting will be held: Pennoyer Park (named after the governor of Oregon at the time Graphite was founded). I'm not entirely thrilled with it, but it's better than WHATEVER.

I've also named a former church: St. Bartholomew's (in the Gospel of John, the disciple Bartholomew is named Nathaniel, which is Philip's middle name). St. Bart's and another church in Graphite's history burned to the ground, this is foreshadowing.

And a mill: Peterson's. What did Peterson mill? I don't know, but there's a picture of it in Emil Kennedy's used bookstore.

The premise of the novel centers around Graphite being the 9th most-livable place in Oregon. In case you're wondering what the others in the top ten are, here's what I know:

unknown

This is of course ridiculous and completely made up. If you'd like your city's name added to the list, I'm not above accepting cash incentives....

I also found the first instance of Graphite being mysteriously re-named Granite. I'll have to keep an eye on that.

Rewriting from Word One

2005-01-22T08:13:00.000-08:00

Well, I reread Chapter 1 last night and it looks like the opening will have to go:

David Graham pulled into one of the diagonal parking spaces in front of Emory’s Mercantile a little after three in the afternoon. He arrived one day ahead of the Preacher, three days ahead of the storm. In less than four days time he would wind up inside a body bag. Of course, he didn’t know that now. If he had, he probably would have stayed anyway, just for spite.

It worked for the rough draft, giving me a handy timetable, but a) it's from an omniscient viewpoint and 2) it leads to a static description of the Merc, which grinds the narrative to a halt.

Plan B has Graham driving all over town trying to find a copy of the local weekly newspaper. All the corner newsracks are empty (why? I'm sure there's a story in there) so he winds up at the Merc looking for one there. Now he has a purpose in the chapter and isn't just "being" there.

Another thing I want to do in the beginning is reference Ray Bradbury's "The Third Expedition" short story (or possibly the Mars is Heaven radio play, which seems to have a similar plotline) wherein Earth astronauts arrive on Mars to find a picturesque 1920's hamlet only to have things go terribly wrong when night falls. I think it'll give an ominous sense to the Rockwellian town of Graphite without having a 1-to-1 correlation.

The other not insignificant change I made last night was to change the name of the "generic" blue jeans on sale in the Merc from BAUGHMAN'S (which I made up as a space filler) to Hobson's (it was going to be "Hobson's Choice", but why be obvious?).

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

2005-01-20T23:31:00.000-08:00

Well, last night I finished my first read-through and tonight I took a red pen to the prologue.

I'm not tackling major revision issues this time through, just filling in the rough spots and fixing the typos and left-out words. Tonight I changed an "of" to "off", added an "of" and a "the" and made some minor grammar and syntax tweaks (eliminating a few needless words here, adding a clarifying phrase there).

The two most significant changes were determining one of the evil projects N'Vonecz headed up in the past and offering a suggestion of why there's a candle burning in the otherwise pitch-blackness of Hell.

In my rough draft I used BIAFRA as a placeholder for the project. I wasn't really sure what Biafra was, only that it brought to mind images of starving children with bloated stomachs. So I googled it tonight and read the Wikipedia entry on the civil war and humanitarian aid crisis. The suggestion in the prologue is that the disaster caused by NV and his team of 23 demons was enormous for a squad that size, but now every-other demon in Hell is trying to take credit for being there, which would severely reduce the ratio of demons to damage (statisticians, of course, are evil). A million dead is too much for 24 and could withstand a lot of coattail-riding.

So I googled other disasters: Bhopal (3,800 dead), Jonestown (900+ dead), Chernobyl (31 dead, 135,000 displaced). Right now I'm going with Bhopal. Jonestown is running a close second; Jim Jones is just too deja-vuey for my storyline, though. I have no doubt that should the novel be published the identity of NV's "control character" will be spoiled, but I don't have to necessarily make it obvious from page 1.

Turns out the purpose of the candle is to give the demons huddled around it their sanity so they can converse and provide the impetus for the story. Who knew? Otherwise it seems they'd be gibbering and wailing like the multitude of demons "off stage."

I also changed one demon's estimation of the Biafra/Bhopal disaster from "a thing of beauty" to "seriously wicked" - since both are true from their perspective I went with the one that would generate less hate mail. (I've considered naming someone in the book Pat Flobbertson to generate controversy, but there's ticking off Brother Pat and there's ticking off real people.) Plus, it makes it sound like the demon's from Boston (also evil).

I need to make sure there's one of those "all events depicted in this novel are fictitious" statements at the beginning of the book. I wouldn't want Union-Carbide trying to pawn their disaster off on the Devil.

Panic Sets In

2005-01-19T09:53:00.000-08:00

Last night I was reading the "Thursday: Hymnsing" section of my novel. I had just finished the part where Maya (ex-deadgirl) and her mom are bookin' it out of town to get to the hospital in Pendleton. Geri is certain that her psycho ex- is following, but they leave the valley without incident.

Then I turned the page to the next chapter and there was David Graham walking up the steps to Rev. Gantt's office trailer.

Wait, hold it a sec ... where was the chase out of town from the crazy ex's perspective? Did I forget to copy it from Mac to PC? Did I neglect to print it out? Did I only dream of having written it?

So I checked the master file on the PC: no chapter. I checked the individual daily text files on the Mac: no chapter.

Aaaarrrrghhh!!! I know I typed it, I know I typed it.

Wait ... maybe I added the passage at the end of one of the days and forgot to separate it back out. Nope, not at the end.

Beginning? Didn't make sense that'd I'd do that, but by the end of November I was fresh out of sense.

There. Beginning of the second section in the Hymnsing. The chase out of town. Told as a flashback.

Suddenly I remembered why I wrote it that way - it occurs simultaneously with Graham visiting Gantt and I didn't want to start a chapter with "Meanwhile...". Apparently I did have a bit of sense at the end of November after all.

I just haven't restocked the shelves since then.

Huh? So That's What I Was Doing In November

2005-01-18T10:16:00.001-08:00

I started reading my rough draft last night and for the first time it really began to sink in that I wrote a book.

Granted, I knew I had a big pile of paper (250 pages) stacked up, but, for all I knew, they could have said "All work and no play makes Chris something something" (Go crazy? Don't mind if I do!) over and over again.

About half an hour in I had a small pile of pages stacking up on my left side, but the pile on the right didn't seem any shorter. Two hours later I was about halfway through the book (and halfway through the pile).

General reactions:

There was some stuff that I didn't recall writing, but mostly a lot of typos and sentences where I'd leave off a eensy-weensy word like "not" or "never" and the meaning of the sentence would be reversed.
Some sentences made no sense; I still know what I was trying to say, but it was apparent that I came nowhere close to saying it.
Some chapters had intriguing ideas mentioned at the beginning that went nowhere as I rushed to get the story in.
One chapter had POV all over the map (omniscient instead of the third-person limited I used everywhere else) that could be fixed if I give my dead/then-not highschooler an out-of-body experience, but a) that's kind of cliche and b) it would mean she doesn't get to go to the creepy red waiting room.
Far too much dialogue, not nearly enough narrative.
Needs more action, more sense of impending doom, more suspense.
But, for the most part, I'm liking what I see.

The Science of Zombie Fighting

2004-12-01T13:07:00.000-08:00

In the past few days, I've written a couple references in the MS about a no-nonsense calulus teacher named Mr. Prentiss. (My own calulus teacher Mr. Stone, was little guy who wore orange shirts and wide ties and said "Balls" if you were lying about why you didn't do your homework.) Last night we finally met him. He's also got a bit of The Shoveller from Mystery Men in him.

Mr. Prentiss, Calculus teacher cum zombie-fighter (or is that the other way 'round?), was among the first to notice the shift in the battle. Suddenly fights that were two to one in the zombies’ favor turned to even odds CONFLICTS. The non-fighting zombies were streaming around the tent to something behind it.

Not through the tent, but around it.

Mathematically, that made no sense.

Prentiss had been at the school when the deputy returned with Pastor Bromfeld. He had heard that the zombies avoided the church, couldn’t even recognize that people were inside it. Did the tent work the same way?

One way to find out. He swung the blade of his snowshovel at the zombie he was fighting, and when the zombie backed off, Prentiss ran for the tent.

(daily word count: 2,556 words; FINAL word count: 74,005 words; body count: at least 2 more zombies, and in a surprise development, Sheriff Brandon Woo)

Sweet Dreams

2004-11-30T13:48:00.000-08:00

Okay, I wrote a sentimental scene last night. In fact, most of the scenes I wrote were sentimental moments in the middle of zombie mayhem (Zombie Mayhem would be a good name for a band). Most of the actual slaughter will have to wait for the rewrite, but I wanted to get the few scenes where I knew what was going to happen done before the end of the month. Among them were: citizens find refuge in the church; Pastor Jim goes out to rescue the woman he's in love with, owner and bartender of The Point, Brooke Adams (the one with the scar); Brooke and Jim hide out in a coffin escaping zombies and she says: "Is that a prayerbook in your pocket or are you happy to see me?" (turns out it's a crucifix); N'Vonecz floats through the air in the middle of a cyclone chasing David Graham. And then there's this scene:

Ma Carter had for so long been able to ignore the clanking of pipes in her water closet while she slept, that the ringing of the church bell went unnoticed as well.

As she slept she had the dream that had been coming to her more and more often. She was in a lush garden. Trees hundred of years old towered overhead, surrounding the acre or so of grass and flowerbeds. With her in the meadow were two animals, a lamb and a rattlesnake. Ma Carter had never been one to place too much faith in dreams, and this one was no exception.

When she awoke the first few times, she puzzled over the dream’s meaning. Was she in Eden along with the animal representations of Christ and Satan? Was she being reminded of Christ’s (Christ, yes?) exhortation to be as gentle as a lamb, but as cunning as a serpent? Was it just another day at the petting zoo? Now she just ignored the possible symbolism of the dream and enjoyed the coolness of the grass beneath her feet, the softness of the lamb’s wool, and tried to ignore the fact that the rattler kept inching closer.

If the ringing of the church bell hadn’t woken her, the breaking of glass and smashing of the front door two stories below didn’t phase her either.

The zombies, smarter than they had been when they started out, performed a systematic search of the house. Each room they entered and found unoccupied the angrier they got. The anger was translated into violence directed at the heirlooms and antiques in the boarding house. Their loss of focus began to whittle away at their intelligence.

As the monsters made their way onto the third floor landing, Ma Carter’s dream changed. Ravens began to fly overhead and perched in the trees surrounding the clearing. Worried by this new development, Carter looked down at the lamb, which looked around at the birds, then at her and smiled. She felt the lamb’s peace fill her soul and she smiled back.

At that moment the rattlesnake struck. Just as quickly, the lamb leapt between her and the snake. The snakes fangs sliced into the lamb’s exposed chest, but the lamb shook it free and trampled it with its tiny hooves before it fell victim to the snake’s venom.

Ma Carter knelt and cradled the lamb’s head in her lap.

As the zombies reached her door and touched the handle, the ravens in the dream attacked. As they flew toward the defenseless woman in the middle of the green, the lamb’s body EXPLODED in a ball of light. As the ravens collided with the sphere of light enveloping the woman, the wheeled off and burst into flame.

Within the ball of light, Ma Carter felt herself dissolving, fading away. It wasn’t painful, wasn’t frightening, yet she was glad she’d never have to experience it again all the same.

When the zombies entered the room, the last one in the house, there was no one to attack, no living body for them to destroy.

They fell upon each other.

I checked the scripture reference (Matt. 10:15-17) and found it's serpents and doves, so in the rewrite she'll have a dove on her shoulder and the bird'll peck the snake to death - or have really strong talons (or the dove equivalent) and tear the rattlesnake in half, soft wool will change to soft feathers, and she'll cradle the whole bird in her lap, not just its head. I guess the dove will coo instead of smile.

The shifting perspective may be a problem (she can't know about the zombies because she's asleep, they can't know about her dream because they're not omniscient zombies), but that's a problem to worry about in January.

(daily word count: 3,853 words; total word count: 71,449 words; body count: unknown - zombies are shown carrying countless bodies up to the abandoned mine for disposal, but no "on-screen" deaths last night)

Doesn't Play Well With Others

2004-11-29T10:48:00.000-08:00

The action picked up last night as the demon N'Vonecz finally got to come out and have some fun. Here's the emergence scene (which will look super cool in the movie):

Daniels was becoming angry, gesturing with the gun and flashlight as he spoke. Wait for an opening, Gantt thought, then try and get the gun away from him.

"Yeah, that’s what it was supposed to be. Then I call up there and find out she’s been rushed to emergen-"

Gantt struck. He shone his flashlight directly at Daniels eyes and moved in on his gun.

He moved fast, but Daniels was faster. As Gantt grabbed his wrist, Daniels was able to pivot his hand and pull off one shot before he lost hold of the gun.

Gantt flew back across the room, a TWO INCH hole in his chest opened to a TEN INCH exit wound in his back. As he lay there on the floor of the trailer, his lungs WETLY trying to inhale oxygen, his heart painfully spasming, Gantt’s vision colored over red, then everything went yellow.

* * *

Daniels stood there looking down at the remains of the preacher-man. The blown-apart body lay there, twitching. He stood in awe of the massive wound the gunshot had inflicted.

A split second later, though, he was worried. I shot him. I killed him. I am so screwed.

Worry changed to panic as the blood flowing from the wound turned from red on the white shirt to black. The open wound clotted over, grew black and hard[, scaly]. Then the body began to move. It sat up with tremendous speed. Daniels shined his flashlight on the preacher-man’s face. Yellow light streamed from the eye sockets. Daniels couldn’t see if there were eyeballs in the sockets, the light was so bright.

As the thing that used to be Gantt rose to its feet, Daniels scrambled backward for the door. He caught the edge of the door squarely between the shoulder blades and the door swung shut. He scrambled for the doorknob. The Gantt-monster lunged.

(daily word count: 3,238 words; total word count: 67,596 words; known body count: 10)

Writing My First Scene

2004-11-28T19:05:00.000-08:00

Things really started moving last night: suspense, destruction, mayhem. I also finally got around to writing the first scene I had sketched out in my "idea notebook" a month ago.

Here's how it turned out (first-draft style):

The door to the office was locked, so he kicked it in. If he needed to cover his tracks later he could say a tree branch had fallen into the door and broken it, or the old standby: It was already broken when I got here.

The trailer was also on the generator, so there was plenty of light for Graham to find his way around the broken remains of the office chair to the desk. Graham didn’t think long about the office chair, he looked quickly for blood, but not seeing any decided Kennedy and Gantt hadn’t gotten into a knock-down drag-out fight.

He opened the desk drawer and pressed the power button on the phone. He heard the same series of beeps and boops he had the night before and then the LCD screen flashed “Ready.”

Graham looked around the desk for a phone book. Not really expecting to find one, he wasn’t greatly disappointed when he didn’t. Figuring the hospital would have a listed number he figured dialing 1-541-555-1212 would do the trick (check eastern Oregon area codes).

As he pressed the INITIAL DIGIT “1” a stream of water hit him in the temple. Graham checked to roof of the trailer for a leak, but didn’t see one. He took two steps back from the desk and hit the “5” key. Again a stream of water hit him, this time squarely across the bridge of his nose. He looked up at the ceiling, and then closely at the phone. He turned the phone sideways and hit the “4”. A small JET of water sprayed from a pin-point hole below the LCD screen.

Graham turned the phone over and pulled the battery pack off the back of the phone. A small tube dangled from the exposed back of the phone. The battery unit was a hollow reservoir filled with water.

Graham threw the PRACTICAL JOKE phone on the ground. He rummaged through the desk for the real phone.

Panic mounting, [he] picked the toy phone up off the ground. It was identical to the phone Gantt had proudly shown him last night. The brand name, WHATWASIT, the green LCD screen still reading "Ready," the dial tone that still blatted out of the speaker: all the same.

If Gantt actually used this to talk to his BENEFACTOR, Graham thought, he was either heavily into the miracle business or he was a madman or ....

As the word “madman” rushed through Graham’s brain the generator began to sputter. The lights dimmed and then went out.

Graham could hear the screams of Gantt’s audience and the squelching sounds of feet running across the soaked DEAD grass. Graham fished his keys out of his pocket and pressed the button on his mini-flashlight. The office was lit weakly, but Graham could see the doorknob of the office door reflecting the glow of his flashlight.

As he made his way around the desk, he tripped over the remains of the office chair. He fell to the ground, dropping his keys as he broke his fall. Blindly, he felt around until he heard them jingle as his hand brushed against them.

He grabbed them and climbed to his feet. He pressed the button. Flashlight on. Doorknob there. He crossed the room and braced himself as he reached for the knob, certain Gantt, the toy phone using madman, would be on the other side.

He turned the knob, ready to run out and leap the stair rail if necessary. Instead, as the door swung open, he screamed as looked into the DEAD eyes of his friend, Emil Kennedy. His neck was clearly broken as it lolled sideways against the wall of the closet Graham had opened by mistake.

Graham reached out and touched the cold face of the ex-priest. “God bless you, my friend.”

As he stepped back to shut the closet he looked down and saw a thin black book on the floor. Graham remembered Kennedy had a book like that when he had fished out his keys earlier – was it only six hours ago? He stooped down and quickly grabbed it up: Tobin’s Spirit Guide.

Graham shoved it in his pocket, as he SHINED the flashlight around the room until he found the RIGHT doorknob. God help anyone on the other side, he thought as he opened the door and ran outside.

(daily word count: 3,660 words; total word count: 64,358 words; words remaining: n/a)

Cascading Flashbacks

2004-11-27T15:54:00.000-08:00

Last night I realized that I had forgotten all about the boy Jacob who David Graham first meets when he gets to town. He appears briefly in several chapters, but I had neglected him completely in Day 4. Since I need him to come to the tent meeting and tell Graham that there's a problem with Maya, I figured I better set that up ahead of time (Jacob telling Graham about Maya sets off the big chain of events leading up to the finale).

Jacob Olsen sat in his room, alone. He had had trouble sleeping the night before, pumped up by the Hymnsing, stressed out over Maya. He had found out at the Hymnsing that Maya and her mom hadn’t left Graphite as early as they had initially planned. If he had known that, he thought, he would have stopped by to see her, to say “goodbye, get well soon, see you around” – something.

Now, that missed opportunity snowballed into a paralyzing fear that he was too late. That that had been his last chance, and having missed it, had consigned her to an unimaginable fate. When he had gotten out of bed in the morning, he had thought of calling her. “Nope, too late, sorry Charlie, that ship has sailed and it hit an iceberg getting out of the port.”

During school, he had been distracted in class. He saw the decorations on Maya’s locker and sunk deeper into depression over not having bought her a card, or even made one out of construction paper or the card-making software on his computer. In class he had doodled “get well Maya” over and over again, filling in spaces with bouquets of flowers and sketches of her face.

Several times before lunch he had seen Mr. Graham walking by his classroom door. He’s come to bring me bad news, Jacob thought. He’s found out something and wanted to let me know personally. During lunch, Jacob searched everywhere for his friend, even stuck his head inside the faculty men’s room and called out “are you in here, Mr. Graham?” The calculus teacher, Mr. Prentiss, was the only person in the restroom and didn’t take kindly to the intrusion. He checked at the office if someone had left a message for him. The receptionist acted as if he were playing a practical joke.

(daily word count: 3,819 words; total word count: 60,718 words; words remaining: n/a)

Weird Association

2004-11-26T18:44:00.000-08:00

Sometimes word association can take you weird places. Sometimes you're just weird to begin with.

Back at the Bookery with his laptop and a steaming hot cup of coffee in front of him, Graham told his story to Emil Kennedy: The history of Gantt’s crew, the locker at the school for Maya, Gantt’s benefactor and his alias. A man on one of the stools with a cup of coffee and a dogeared copy of Tom Clancy’s Hunt for Red October, kept looking over at them; irritated or interested Graham couldn’t tell.

“I’ve been [Googling] combinations of Neville and Nev with Onyx, Black, Blackman, Black with a wildcard character after it, White and White with a wildcard, in case he’s trying to throw us off that way. Nothing. I’m going to look at lists of the Northwest’s richest people in case there’s someone there with initials N. O. or some kind of color related last name. If that comes up empty, I’ll try combinations with Chamberlain as the first name.”

“Wasn’t there a kid in the Harry Potter series named Neville? What was his last name? Weasel? Weasely?”

“No, that was Harry’s friend Ron and his family.”

“Longbottom,” the man at the end of the bar said. “Neville Longbottom.”

“Barry SOMEONE, God bless me, but you’re a man of unexpected depth.”

“Nah, not really, just my daughter makes me read the things to her at bedtime. Must’ve read the first books three or four times a piece, this last one we’re on our second time through. Harry Potter and Narnia, no Russian subs in ‘em, but she loves ‘em none the less for that.

“Longbottom, huh?” Graham said. “Not much hope in that, is there?”

(daily word count: 3,425 words; total word count: 56,899 words; words remaining: n/a)

Don't Drink the Water

2004-11-25T14:04:00.000-08:00

Part of the main plan behind the revival meeting is that everybody in town has to be presented with the Gospel. Whether they respond or not is secondary (and the game is rigged so that few if any will), but they have to hear it. To that end, Rev. Gantt has to go around and persuade bars, restaurants, and businesses that will be open during the time of the meeting to tune in the radio broadcast (there's a financial incentive if they do). Here's what Gantt finds when he walks into Brooke Adams' bar, The Point.

A large muscle-bound man stood behind the bar, wearing a sleeveless t-shirt. The name Rudy was written above his left pectoral in laundry marker ink. As Gantt stepped up to the bar, Rudy, his voice deep but genuinely curious, said, “What can I getcha?”

“Nothing for me, actually, to drink that is. Would you happen to be the owner of this bar?”

“Nah, that’d be Brooke Adams. She’s back in the storeroom doing inventory. Want me to get her for you?”

“Please.”

“Sure you don’t want anything to drink? You’re looking a little flushed. Ice water?”

Gantt hadn’t been in the bar a minute and already he was sweating. He considered the offer of water, but the thought of drinking anything in a bar turned his stomach. “No thanks, I’m good.”

With Rudy gone for the moment, Gantt took his handkerchief out of his inside coat pocket and mopped his forehead and the back of his neck. As he began to put it away, he changed his mind and took the coat off entirely, laying it on the barstool beside him. He stuffed the handkerchief in his pants pocket.

An old man wearing a green flannel shirt and John Deere baseball cap stepped up to the bar beside him. The man placed an empty pilsner glass on the bar and looked up and down its length.

“Seen where Rudy went?”

“Back to the storeroom to find Ms. Adams. He should be back in a minute.”

“Thanks.” The old man looked Gantt up and down, applying the same scrutiny to him as he did the absence of the bartender. “You’re that preacher guy from the park, arencha?”

Gantt did his best to smile; the beer fumes coming off the man kept his stomach spinning. “That’s right. Coming to the main event this evening?”

“Ha!” The old man barked. “No offense, but I don’t see that happening, no sir.”

(daily word count: 1,942 words; total word count: 53,474 words; words remaining: n/a)

Filling In

2004-11-24T13:20:00.000-08:00

Last night I wound up filling in a couple bald patches in the novel, places where after I had finished a section I realized something else could/should go in there.

One of the spots I realized two nights ago after writing the main "Hymnsing" section. I'd been wanting to establish that sound carries in the valley of the novel's setting, and near the opening of Part IV: Friday Rev. Gantt goes to a nursing home to persuade them to turn on the radio to his broadcast that evening.

So I wrote a snippet from the perspective of a near-vegetative man Gantt meets at the nursing home. No one from the nursing home is aware of the events in this snippet. The man himself may not realize it, either. Only you, Privileged Reader, are granted this vision.

Behold!

A mile away at the Riverview Retirement Home, Jason Fanning could hear the sounds of the Hymnsing faintly in his bedroom. The barely audible sounds spurred him into action as surely as the flautist of Hamlin had compelled his quarry to parade after him through the street.

Fanning swung one varicose veined leg over the side of the mattress and then the other. Using the wheelchair beside the bed for support and guidance, he made his way over to the window. As he slid the window up a chilly breeze accompanied the strains of the organ into the room.

He had always loved the old hymns. He thought he had heard “Amazing Grace” earlier, but had lacked the strength then to get out of bed. As he strained to hear which hymn was being played, one after another, Fanning felt his strength increasing. As if the joy he felt in his heart were being translated into SINEW and MUSCLE in his legs and back, when he heard ANOTHER CLASSIC HYMN being played and heard the words coming out of his mouth, Fanning knew it was time to make his move.

Now, with the window open and the melody of I COME TO THE GARDEN ALONE drifting in, Fanning began to WALTZ around the room using the wheelchair as his partner. When the tempo changed with the next hymn, INNA GADDA DA VIDA, he abandoned the wheelchair and danced A/THE FOXTROT by himself. When the organ played NAME THAT TUNE, Fanning returned to the wheelchair and the waltz; halfway through he stopped and began to sing, his once rich baritone now a barely audible croak. He sang anyway, not having anyone to impress – not even himself. He sang, tears streaming down his face. He sang, and then he danced some more.

Obviously I need to research some good hymns and appropriate dance steps

(daily word count: 2,032 words; total word count: 51,532 words; words remaining: n/a)

Backstory Synchronicity

2004-11-23T10:42:00.000-08:00

There have been several times in the past weeks where some little detail in a character's backstory has played a significant role in the character's development in the novel that I hadn't seen prior to writing a particular chapter. Last night I wrote part of the pre-Revival get-together where people sing hymns and share their stories. I also included a flashback where Reverend Gantt's prison history plays a factor (I didn't know it would going in, and it probably needs refinement, but it worked well enough for last night).

For more examples of this happening, see my other blog.

As the song ended, Gantt looked for another person to pass the microphone to. Three rows back he saw one of the women he had borrowed gardening equipment from earlier in the day raise her hand. As he handed her the microphone, he noticed the BELLIGERENT man who had ACCOSTED him in his trailer twenty minutes before the service began.

“I’m not a believer in God or any of that stuff,” the woman began, “but I want to tell you something about this man, Reverent Gantt. The reverent came to my house this morning ....”

* * *

Gantt tuned the woman and her poor vocabulary out and considered the man – the bully – at the back of the tent. The man’s arms were crossed, the backs of his hands possibly pushing his biceps up, but as Gantt remembered it the man’s arms had looked plenty big as he towered over the desk in his office. Gantt [had] sat placidly – on the outside he was placid, on the inside he was looking for something to hit the man with if he lunged, a necessary skill he had learned in prison – and listened to the man threaten him incoherently.

“If anything happens to her, you better start praying. I swear I’ll come down on you so hard you’ll wish you were back in Sunday school, preacher man.”

And so it had gone for a minute or two until the man ran out of steam. Gantt had decided that if the man attacked he’d grab the satellite phone out of the drawer and smash it into the side of his head.

Gantt kept his tone even, neutral, maintaining eye contact with the man towering above him. “I don’t know who you are or what you have to do with me, but let me say that I –“

“I’ll tell you who I am, I’m the daddy of the little girl you worked your voodoo on yesterday and I’m the man who’s gonna kill you if they find anything wrong with her at the hospital in PENDLETON.”

“If that’s the case, why aren’t you there with her instead of here blustering at me.” Turning the tables was another defensive trick he had learned in prison. He hadn’t been much of a people person before entering the penitentiary, but he found quickly how to forestall violence with communication and other helpful life lessons while locked away.

“Because the damn bridge is out and I’m stuck here looking at your ugly face.”

“I see, hmmmm, well I need to be going; I have to take my ugly face out there to the tent for the Hymnsing. If you want to keep looking at it, if that’s what you want to do, I’m not going to stop you; it’s a free country, after all.” Nonchalant on the outside, cautious on the inside Gantt pushed his chair back away from the desk. “But I’d caution you,” Gantt said as he stood and took his coat from a hangar – the metal tip of the hangar would make a good gouging weapon, he thought; “the sheriff mentioned he’d come by and look things over, so I’d keep control of that temper if I were you.”

The bully – Maya’s father, if he wasn’t a complete raving psycho – told Gantt what he could do with himself and stormed out of the trailer.

Gantt took the hangar with him, the hook bent straight out to a point, as he opened the door. He stepped out side and tried the door handle to make sure it was locked behind him. Maya’s father was nowhere in sight; Gantt was certain that he had nothing to worry about, that Maya was alive and well, that all the medical tests would come back clean, but he took the hangar with him to tent to be on the safe side.

(daily word count: 2,753 words; total word count: 49.500 words; words remaining: 500)

Fun with Secrets

2004-11-22T16:09:00.000-08:00

In Revival, my non-denominational local pastor is smitten with the local bartendress, which of course is a secret because people would talk. As revealed earlier, said bartrendress has a prominent scar on her neck and for her own amusement times how long it takes for a newcomer to gawp at it. Having never been in her bar, Pastor Jim doesn't know about the "local custom," and winds up misunderstanding their first encounter:

“The scar doesn’t bother you?” [Graham asked.]

“Actually, I think if she didn’t have the scar I wouldn’t have noticed her, but that caught my eye, and then I saw that it didn’t matter to her – when she saw me seeing her, she just smiled. I’m sure I looked like a complete DORK smiling back. Then she raised her hand and wiggled her fingers at me then gave me a thumbs-up and left. It couldn’t have been much more than five seconds since I walked into the grocery store where she was shopping before I noticed her, but ever since I did, I’ve been in love.

Graham debated whether he should tell Bromfeld what the five wiggling fingers and the solitary thumb meant, but who knows, maybe she was smitten too. Bromfeld wasn’t hideous looking: average build and height, but with his sun-blonde hair and pale blue eyes he could pass for a second- or third cousin to Robert Redford.

That conversation occurs at the beginning of Part Two: Wednesday. At the end of Part Two, Graham and Pastor Jim meet up again, sharing a special moment:

When Graham got up to leave, Pastor Bromfeld was standing inside the door, picking the bell off the floor. As he headed out, the two made eye contact. Graham gave him a five-finger wave. Bromfeld shot him back a thumbs up.

(daily word count (11/21): 2,498 words; total word count: 46.747 words; words remaining: 3,253)

Sometimes It Just Writes Itself

2004-11-17T16:52:00.000-08:00

Last night I was looking for a way out of a scene that was going on and on and on and ... you get the idea. Fortunately, TV sitcoms provided the answer.

“This town really BITES[,” Maya said. “]If we lived in PENDLETON, I could do the tests early and still do what I wanted in the evening.”

“The thrill of all-you-can-eat lime hospital Jell-O has faded?” Graham asked.

“Oh, barf.”

“Tell me about it,” Jacob said.

“No, really – I think I’m going to be sick,” Maya said and ran [...] into the kitchen.

Graham and Jacob stood in awkward silence, alone in the sitting room.

I cut a "sitting room" phrase out of the paragraph before last to balance out the insertion of a "Maya said" earlier in the excerpt.

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Feeling Snarky

2004-11-16T13:21:00.000-08:00

After a year of writing semi-objective reviews over at Amazon, it's taken me a while to relax my narrative technique for the novel. I think it's getting better; my storytelling, at least, is starting to sound a bit more like me.

I think getting into the discussion boards at faith*in*fiction has helped, too (in your opinion, maybe it's hurt).

Anyhoo, this sounds like something I'd write.

[Graham] pulled out his notebook. “Thanks for taking the time to meet with me. I think your perspective as an educator will be invaluable to my article.”

“Thank you, although I haven’t taught regularly in a classroom setting for years. I like to think I know what’s happening at my school, but as this is only my second year here, I’m muddling through the best I can with the rest of the sophomores.”

She played idly with a rubber band on her left wrist, confirming for Graham his suspicion that she was a REFORMED SMOKER. (if there’s a SMOKEBUSTERS or SMOKE-ENDERS group that uses the rubberband method, use that instead)

“Well, let’s talk about what’s going on....”

And so they talked about test scores (improving), drop out rates (declining), truancy, vandalism, teen pregnancy (all remaining steady, but with students increasingly accepting responsibility for their actions), cafeteria food (avoid the meatloaf), athletics (Go Cougars!), and so on.

“Let me ask you this,” Graham asked about fifteen minutes into the interview, “What’s the single best thing about living in Graphite?”

“Well, I think that would be that people really seem to care about each other. No, not just ‘seem to care,’ they do. If you get a flat tire on MAIN St., it seems like three cars won’t go past before someone stops to offer help.”

Graham smiled and nodded and thought to himself, “With legs like yours, you bet they stop to help.” He had to fight hard to maintain his focus on writing his notes in his NOTEBOOK.

(daily word count: 4,482 words; total word count: 35,315 words; words remaining: 14,685)

Dueling Scriptures

2004-11-15T10:49:00.000-08:00

Last night I had my travelling revival preacher cross horns (figuratively) with the pastor of the local church. It was a fun scene to write. Hopefully it won't make you vomit.

Gantt took the key and pocketed it. He turned his head and looked heavenward. “A glorious day, isn’t it? Makes you appreciate being alive.”

Bromfeld looked at the TOUR BUS parked in front of his house, the men CLUSTERED on the sidewalk, some leaning against the bus, arms folded. Then he considered the blue sky, bright and clear except for a few stray clouds moving in from the east. “I suppose it does. Pity I have to work on my sermon for Sunday and Bible lesson for this evening.”

“Ah, yes? What passage will you be studying?”

“I was thinking of Titus 1:9-11”

“Aaahhh ... ‘rebellious talkers and deceivers teaching things they ought not to teach for the sake of dishonest gain.’ Is it a coincidence that I’m in town tonight or should I take it personally?”

Bromfeld was silent.

“So that’s it, then. Let me just say that you are not the first local pastor to feel that way about me, nor will you be, I suspect, the last. Only take into consideration that in addition to performing a bit of community service this morning, we will not be receiving a collection during the meetings tonight and tomorrow.”

Bromfeld stared IMPASSIVELY at Gantt.

“We’re not in it for the money Pastor Bromfeld, so if you’re going to let your suspicions run away with your better judgment, perhaps Acts 20:28-30 would be a BETTER text to examine.”

A fly buzzed by Bromfeld’s cheek. He brushed it away with the back of his hand.

“Think about it, and if you decide I’m not the enemy, please come to the Hymnsing at seven tonight. Of course, if you want to be especially nasty, the opening verse of First Timothy chapter four is particularly inflammatory, but I’d still go with the Acts.”

I think in the rewrite I'll have it that a pastor in another town picketted Gantt's revival meeting with the Timothy verse on the picket sign

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Stuttering, Dithering & Word Count

2004-11-14T16:03:00.000-08:00

In writing speech impediments for my NaNoWriMo project I've found it really pays to have your characters dither rather than stutter. Each "um," "er," and "uh" counts as a separate word. Whereas s-s-s-stu-uh-stuttering only counts as one. I have both, so I'm not completely padding - I also have a lisper, so I've pretty much got it covered.

If you've seen My Cousin Vinnie and remember Austin Pendleton's character, he's kind of what I had in mind when I wrote Mayor Ed Jackman in the scene below:

Graham had just about convinced himself he was being paranoid [about collusion between the mayor and Rev. Gantt], when the door swung open and the mayor stepped out to greet him.

“Sorry about that. I had to make a call and get something squared away for Reverend Gantt. Hope you didn’t mind waiting?”

“Not at all.” Would the mayor be so open about a conspiracy if there really were one, thought Graham. Then again, maybe that’s the perfect cover. “May I ask what the good Reverend needed?”

“I suppose it’s not confidential, wouldn’t want to be accused of having secret backroom politicking going on here.” The mayor waved his hands around, gesturing to the office as a whole, “No cigar smoke filled room ... as you can, uh, see. Heh heh.”

Graham waited a moment, then with no direct answer to his question forthcoming, asked specifically: “What did the good Reverend need?”

“Oh, that? He, uh, that is to say, we, uh, worked out a deal where he and his group; I suppose it’ll mostly be his group doing the work, not him, uh, specifically, uh...”

Graham helped himself to a seat, uncertain if the mayor’s dithering was a stonewall tactic or if he was genuinely nervous speaking to a member of the press.

“...uh, worked out a deal where, uh, whereby the cemetery behind the churchyard would get weeded and cleaned and, uh, spruced, generally spruced up in exchange for the town’s waiving the fee for a tentorary, er, temporary structure permit for their, uh, tent.”

(daily word count: 1,831 words; total word count: 28,278 words; words remaining: 21,722)

Across the Great Divide

2004-11-13T13:51:00.000-08:00

If I did my math correctly, the halfway point in my 50,000 word odyssey is somewhere in this excerpt. There are at least two sections of the book that come before this that haven't been written yet, so the final 25,000th word is likely not here, but since some of the sections after this point have already been written, who knows.

Caution: There's some semi-gratuitous Name-in-vain taking at the end of this excerpt that may not be in the final book or appropriate for all readers. It'll probably in the movie though - it's that kind of moment.

The EMTs were struggling with getting the body bag zipped up over the bicycle helmet. They tried several times, turning her head to the side, pulling up the sides of the bag, MAYBE SOMETHING ELSE, but with no success. Finally, one of them unbuckled the chin strap and removed the helmet, setting it on the hood of the car.

“It looks like she’s sleeping, doesn’t it?” The man in the suit had walked up behind them.

One of the EMTs asked the man in the suit who he was in language appropriate to the situation, but which the Reverend himself wouldn’t have used in his revival meetings – or anywhere else, for that matter.

“Excuse me for intruding. I’m Reverend Herbert Gantt.” He gestured over his shoulder to the half-erected tent behind him. “Would you mind if I prayed over the girl, before you zipped her up in that ... thing?”

“Last rites?”

“I hope not,” Gantt said in a whisper. He turned back to the students on the sidewalk and called out, “Does anyone know this girl’s name?”

Several kids answered, “Maya” or “Maya Daniels.”

Beside the CRUISER Sheriff Woo and the girl’s mother stood in STUNNED (SHOCKED?) silence. Although he couldn’t see much, even Ed Jackman raised his head and turned it toward the sound of Gantt’s voice.

The EMTs stepped back as Gantt raised his hands above Maya’s EXPOSED head. “In the Bible it says in the last days miracles will be performed (check it to get it right), that people will be healed and even raised from the dead. I believe that to be true. Maya Daniels, I command you to rise up, alive, in the name of the Lord –“

The girl’s eyes opened.

“Jeeee-susss Christ!” one of the EMTs shouted.

Maya’s eyes FLICKED back and forth, the opened sides of the body bag cutting off her view of anything but the upside-down face of a man in a dark suit smiling down on her.

(daily word count: 2,487 words; total word count: 26,447 words; words remaining: 23,553)

Eating Out

2004-11-12T13:23:00.000-08:00

Last night I wrote the final chapter of the first major section of the book. In it Graham meets up with a couple kids at the local library and has some dirt dished. Beforehand, though, he ate dinner at a local place called Cabrón's (I didn't accent-uate the "o" while I was typing because the first draft doesn't need it and that's why God created global search and replace; which also covers alien abductions):

Seated at a table, Graham ordered an iced tea and looked over the menu. The selection was typical, if not inspired: the usual assortment of tacos, burritos, enchiladas and tamales. Steaks, chicken and seafood were offered too, with the usual APPELLATIONS of verdes, asadas, picos, and WHAT HAVE YOUS. Any kind of meat could be put in any of the tacos, burritos or enchiladas, so Graham ordered a couple carne asada burritos and a CHICKEN tamale.

While he waited for his dinner, he took out his notebook and sketched out what he knew so far. He knew the downtown was quaint – a cliché, but he could fix it later; he knew what it meant now, and that was what was important. He knew the park was neglected. He knew Ma Carter’s Boarding House was better than many of the hotels he’d ever stayed in – and he dreaded the fact that he may have to blow his cover with his editor if he was going to do the town justice. The people he’d met were friendly; how long could that last, he wondered. He knew a revival meeting was coming that weekend; he underlined this fact twice. He knew THIS, WHICH WAS AN INTERESTING FACT. And he knew THAT, WHICH WASN’T REALLY INTERESTING, BUT IT DID ADD COLOR.

And now that his order had arrived he knew one more thing: The portions at Cabron’s are huge.

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Local Custom

2004-11-11T11:32:00.000-08:00

This scene just kind of came to me while I was foundering about for some way to introduce Brooke Adams, local tavern owner. It's a prime example of my patented stage-direction-free dialogue. In my mind, I know what's happening; hopefully a portion of that is conveyed to readers who are not me.

Graham took a look at her neck; the scar, at least a half inch wide and paler than the surrounding skin ran from the top of her BREASTBONE around the RIGHT (non-jugular) side of her neck to the bottom of her ear, which was missing part of the lobe.

He glanced up and saw her looking at him. She turned and nodded to the man tending bar at the other end. He, in turn, rang a brass bell below a rack of glasses on the wall.

“Twelve seconds,” Adams announced. “Who has twelve?”

A small man in his fifties wearing a John Deere ball cap raised his hand.

“Vic Soames, Rudy. Pour him a Guinness.”

As Vic got up to claim his drink, he passed by Graham. “Thanks, buddy,” he said and clapped his hand over Graham’s shoulder as he walked away.

“What was that about?” Graham asked.

“Local custom. When a new guy comes in, he’s timed from the moment he comes up to the bar until he cops a peek at my scar. Took you twelve seconds. Thanks for looking at my eyes first; you’re a real gentleman.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable? Please. I stopped being uncomfortable about it about a month after the stitches came out and it stopped itching. It is what it is, and mostly it’s been good for business. That’ll be four dollars out of your tab.”

“But – “

“Or you can leave now and never come back.”

“But what if I wanted to include a tip?”

“How much?”

“Buck fifty?”

“Fair enough.”

(daily word count: 2,552 words; total word count: 21,649 words; words remaining: 28,351)

Wakey Wakey

2004-11-10T09:56:00.000-08:00

My main character, David Graham, has a boss who strongly disapproves of his staff enjoying themselves on business trips. Said editor was quite happy when the only alternative to bed & breakfasts was a place called "Ma Carter's Boarding House" (see Checking In). Graham was quite pleased to find his accomodations nothing like his fears suggested - still, he's not about to reveal his good fortune to his boss.

Graham’s alarm went of at 6:46. With the intention of getting out of bed at 7:00, he had set it so as to allow for two seven minute snoozes before he had to rise and shine.

As he dozed and woke twice he came to the conclusion he had terribly underestimated the comfort of his bed. Seldom had he drifted back to sleep so easily. Rarely had he had the sensation of surfacing from a deep-water dive in order to silence the snooze alarm. After the second alarm, Graham seriously considered resetting the clock for eight and bagging his interview with Tracy Greene.

Then he had the unfortunate thought of how he would explain his DERELICTION OF DUTY to his editor. “Oh, your canvas cot – the one filled with shards of glass – was sooooo uncomfortable you had to – what? – oversleep an hour? Something’s not kosher here, so spill.”

That would never do.

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Welcome to the Afterlife

2004-11-09T09:45:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I continued writing Graham's interview with ex-dead girl, Maya. He asks her about what she experienced in the few minutes she was dead:

“Everything was red, like when you’re lying out on your back sunbathing, and the sunlight is shining through the blood vessels in your eyes. I wasn’t in pain. I wasn’t scared, but I wasn’t really feeling anything. I don’t think I was numb, it was more like being bored.”

“Like being bored?”

“Well there wasn’t anything to do. There didn’t seem to be anywhere to go. Like it was an all-red waiting room, but without furniture or magazines. I remember calling out “Hello” and “Is anyone here?” The words felt flat, like they weren’t traveling very far. If it were a cartoon I guess they would have come out of my mouth, traveled a few feet and then smashed to the floor with a thud, except the sound of the thud wouldn’t have traveled far either.”

...

“Do you remember hearing or smelling anything?”

“It was silent, I mean dead quiet. I heard the sound of my voice, but it didn’t sound right. Other than that I didn’t hear anything until someone was shouting something like ‘...live again, in the name of the Lord’ and then I woke up, or came back to life or whatever. I didn’t smell anything until that happened, either and then I smelled a really bad stink, like rotten eggs and stale cigar smoke or something. Must have been the car exhaust.”

“So no bright white light? No angel choir?”

“No. Just boring, red, quiet, stinkiness.”

“Do you think you were in, well, you know, ‘the other place’?”

“Hell? Nah, unless my punishment is eternal boredom; in which case ‘why bother,’ I mean, just make me live in this town forever.”

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Discussing Maya

2004-11-08T09:07:00.000-08:00

Here's a longish sample of some dialogue. Right now my the dialogue tends to read like competing monologues, which isn't great. I'm getting better at adding props and detail in to break things up a bit.

I think pretty much everything you need to know is covered in the sample:

Maya sat on a SETTEE up against the wall. An elderly man was in the process of removing a pressure cuff from her arm when Graham walked in. She offered him a weak smile, her color was off and she had dark circles under her eyes.

“Blood pressure checks fine, Mrs. Aguilar. There’s some tenderness in the abdomen match with what happened during the collision. Some swelling in her left ear, also not inconsistent with the accident. No broken bones, no cranial trauma beyond what I can see in the ear canal, no dissociative behavior, amnesia, or anything of that nature.”

On the other side of the sitting room a man walked past the archway, trailing a long, spiraled telephone cord behind him. “Whaddya mean we can’t sue him. He hit her with his damned boat of a car; that’s VEHICULAR MANSLAUGHTER right there.” The phone cord pulled taut as the man disappeared from view.

The doctor scratched his chin, “If WHAT’S HISFACE hadn’t said her heart had stopped beating and she was unresponsive to CPR I wouldn’t have believed anyone else saying she was actually dead. How this fella Gantt did what he did I don’t know. There’s no place in medical science for faith healing and miracles; still, I don’t have a better explanation to offer you.”

The phone cord in the other room dropped slack against the PARQUET floor. “But she was dead. We have witnesses. What about that?”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“I would really like to get her into the hospital, run some tests to make sure there’s no internal damage. Maybe see if we can find a logical explanation before people start lighting candles on your front porch.” He tried to force a smile.

“Well can we sue that preacher guy then? Tampering with evidence? That’s got to be worth something....”

Hearing her daughter reduced to the level of compromised evidence in someone’s twisted litigious scheme drove Geri into a rage.

“Get out of my house, you BASTARD!” She grabbed the handset and slammed it into the RECEIVER. “Get the HELL out of my house before I call my lawyer and tell him you’re violating the restraining order, you sick FFF–“ She stopped, biting her lower lip, aware that all conversation in the house had stopped and every eye was purposefully not looking directly at her.

Maya sat on the couch, eyes brimming with tears, her breath COMING in uneven (RAGGED?) HITCHES.

Geri continued, her tone icy, but not as loud, “Get out of my house now. I shouldn’t have let you in. I won’t make that mistake again.”

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Toonces Mouser the Cat

2004-11-07T01:54:00.003-08:00

Tonight (Day 6) I wrote the segment of the novel where everybody goes to bed the first night. This section is immediately followed by Rev. Gantt's nightmare. Mouser is a 3-legged cat that my ex-priest character dragged in out of the rain one evening.

In this excerpt we see "getting ready for bed" from the cat's perspective. I know, it's a cliche - but it's my cliche, dang it, and I had fun writing it.

Mouser the cat patrolled the bookshelves and cupboards behind the lunch counter. She hadn’t seen a mouse in weeks, but she felt the weather changing. And she knew that with wet weather came mice.

Had she been able to talk – and an old codger, rocking on a porch somewhere spitting tobacco – she’d have said she felt in her stump, waving it around for all to see. Even though she knew nothing of high and low pressure systems and barometers or meteorology, and even though it wasn’t a localized phenomenon, she knew what she felt: Mice are coming. Mice will be here soon.

Upstairs she heard The Opener of Cans getting ready for sleep. She had watched him sometimes, trying to understand his rituals. He didn’t groom himself like she did at bedtime, though once or twice she had seen him lick his front paw and RUB down some hair sticking up over his funny ears. Sometimes The Opener of Cans would lie curled up in a ball, but he usually slept stretched out flat. She had tried sleeping that way, but never succeeded.

Her patrol took her by the store’s front windows. She put her paws up on the window frame and looked out at the street through the posters. Streetlights (and the moon?) shone down on the deserted street. She couldn’t see the stars, though she still remembered them from the time she had been tossed out of the car along the road by Kicker. She remembered him still, but The Opener of Cans who had been a woman was fainter in her memory.

She made her last circuit of the downstairs before heading up the stairs to repeat the routine and go to sleep. She thought she saw something underneath one of the stools, but it turned out to be nothing, a shadow cast by something moving on the street.

“Not to worry,” she thought, the feline equivalent at any rate, “the mice will be here soon.” And, who knows where cats’ thoughts come from, “...and something else, too.”

I'm not expecting that Mouser's POV will make another appearance in the book, so a minor indulgence here may not sink a multi-book deal. I have no idea yet if Mouser can drive a car.

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