The hole in him is gaping, so large I think I could see it half a world away. Fractured pieces are what remain and they haven’t been put back together right. Close, but not close enough. There are jagged edges, clumps of glue holding things together. He’s destroyed, maybe so much that the whole he’ll construct when he comes out of this darkness won’t have all the smoothness of before.
It’s probably obvious that I’ve spent a bit of time reviewing all the material I have related to my novel. Here’s the beginning of yet another scene that was never in the novel itself:
There are five people in the living room when I come home. Only one of them is Carson. Not a profound statement, I know, but true.
“Only one of them is Carson” makes me laugh. The photo above also makes me laugh. What is that? A stock photo of the Doctor with psychic paper?
Here’s an entire scene that never made it into my novel. Not even close. How not close? Paul was never a named character in any draft of it.
The doorbell rings just after 1100. Discounting Dante and my followers, we don’t often get visitors. I set aside the book I’m reading and go to the front door to peer through the peep hole. It’s the man from the stabbing.
<Carson, the guy you saved is here to see you.>
I open the door, smiling out of politeness. “Good morning. It’s good to see you up and about.”
<Okay. I just got out of the shower, I’ll be out in a few minutes.>
“Hey. Good morning,” he extends a hand. “I’m Paul.”
Shaking his hand, I step aside and gesture him in. “Eyan.”
“Er… Thanks,” he stutters.
“Please sit down,” I lead him into the living room.
He lowers himself onto the couch. “So… I managed to get your names and address. I hope you don’t mind. I just wanted to thank you.”
Considering how well known Carson is, his finding our address is not a feat to be wondered at. I settle across from Paul, on a lazy chair. “It’s my friend, Carson, you want to thank. He’s the one who saved your life. I was just with him.”
Paul’s eyebrows go up momentarily. “I wasn’t unconscious the whole time. I remember both of you.”
Yes, but you didn’t hear the silent conversation that proceeded my help. “Carson is really
Happy New Year!
I’m continuing to have issues getting my chapters to load well in the blog so please let me know if you notice any issues.
I’m awake by 0600. Rolling onto my stomach, I pull a tablet out of the top drawer of my right nightstand. Powering it up, I log on to the Filument, a vast network of computers connected by Lyril technology. All Chosen computers and mobile devices have seamless Filument and Internet access.
<Access news,> I instruct. A list of recent unread items maximizes under the heading Chosen News. The top one is a reminder about the semi-annual artponere, asking everyone who is participating to contact the organizer. This event brings Chosen from all over the world to the San Francisco Shelter for an exhibition of paintings, drawings, sculpture, and an evening of music, theater shorts, and various artistic endeavors.
<Send artponere reminder to Carson.> A list of Carsons appear under the heading, ‘Did you mean…’ None are Carson Wilde. An account must not have been set up for him. Knowing Davonte to be an early riser, I contact her. She agrees to my request, as expected. I’m out and back before Carson emerges from his room at 0702. He’s shaved. A simple change that does worlds to distance him from the Chair I found him in.
<Here,> I say, handing Carson a telamp. It’s a
Having watched Harry Potter movies 3, 4, 5, and 6 over the weekend has left me rereading some of my favorite Harry Potter fanfiction. There are stories I liked enough to turn into ebooks to read on my Kindle. They’re very different from the series and a couple of my absolute favorites include novel length takes on Snape adopting Harry. It sounds completely insane but it involves Snape being a better person than he actually was (and not being in love with Harry’s mom) and some stories pull it off in a really entertaining way.
Anyway, I’ll be getting back to rereading Harry Potter fanfic after posting this conversation that never ended up in any draft of my novel:
<You’ve lost your mind.>
<You’re just full of hate and fear. No harm’s been done.>
<That’s just because you were lucky. If it had worked you would have handed them more tools to use against us.>
<If it had worked they would be like us.>
<It takes more than just our abilities to make people like us. It’s everything else we were taught too.>
<Compassion? Respect for all people and their cultures? Seems like you could use a few more lessons yourself.>
If a future version of myself traveled back in time and gave me her finished, published version of my novel, and I then took that and published it…did I ever write the finished version?
Surprisingly, I haven’t watched any Doctor Who tonight, or anything involving time travel at all.
My novel used to have a mass shooting in it. It’s something I cut a while ago – it had started to feel like I was trying to include every modern issue ever. Rereading the paragraph below, I can’t help but think I need to make it to a gun range to hear gunfire. There’s only so far you can get from reading about it online.
It happens at Calloway Fair. Those in the immediate vicinity are dead before they know who or why or from where. Those on the opposite side of the mall don’t understand. They hear what sounds like fireworks, what sounds like cars backfiring. They aren’t afraid. Why should they be? It’s Saturday afternoon, three weeks before Christmas, and everyone is enjoying some holiday shopping. Then the screaming reaches them and they know. It’s happening here. They panic, run in every direction, some even toward the gunshots because they can’t tell where, exactly, they’re coming from.
I also can’t help but laugh at the line “…everyone is enjoying some holiday shopping” because I can’t stand the mall, and the busier it is, the more I can’t stand it. As someone who was at a mall on Saturday
This evening I looked at the list of things I need to do in my novel and…I did one of them! PROGRESS!
This evening I also started the tedious process of resetting my iPhone and reconfiguring it again from scratch, because Apple thinks this may solve the bizarre issue of my new phone’s battery health slowly being sucked away.
One of these things was a lot more fun than the other.
Anyway, with a phone that’s probably only 5% set up and various things to do as I wind down for bed, I’m going to leave you with a snippet I never did fit into my novel (but I haven’t given up hope):
When you’re past their defenses you can open all the doors to madness. And once they’re open, they can’t just be closed. It’s a lot easier to break something than it is to fix it.
I didn’t get any work on my novel done this weekend. I won’t be working on in next weekend while I’m in Fresno for Christmas so I’ll need to focus on it after work this week to make sure my progress doesn’t stagnate.
This will be a super short blurb this week. It’s something that sort of made it into the novel:
<Death is always an empty bed.>
Last night was our company Christmas party. I thought I’d be able to post after I got home but it went a lot later than I expected and I was too exhausted. It’s the only day I’ve missed posting since I started up again on August 27, so I think I’m doing really well overall.
I ended up getting very little sleep last night so I’m pretty braindead at the moment. I’m going to make this related to my last post. This was another idea for the same part of the book. This one didn’t make it into the novel either:
Carson sleeps most of the three days following his arrival. I leave him in peace to sort through the last six months, worrying in the privacy of my own thoughts.
It amuses me that Carson’s behavior in the two approaches is the exact opposite.
Also, that’s not a picture of Carson sleeping but it made me giggle so I went with it.
I have so much that I’ve written for this novel and a lot of it isn’t even in the novel. Like this paragraph:
He’s not sleeping. I thought he was doing little else but I was wrong. He’s not sleeping at all. How long can a person go without sleep? I’ve never had cause to wonder. Now I Google it, of all things. Apparently, about 11 days. I’m surprised it’s so many. Though of course a person’s focus and concentration worsen as time progresses. Anxiety likely increases as well. Carson’s only at three days so I suppose I don’t need to worry too much about his physical health yet. I suppose.