Retro 4/4

What do you get when you take CS Lewis’s ‘That Hideous Strength’ and cross it with… well… me?

You get Shadowlands.  Where quasi-human janissaries serve those dithering-fallen angels who could not make up their damned minds.

What happens if one of your overpowered agents wakes up… and turns on you?

Again, this is all here and there… take the walk to the pharmacy door of OTChi Kocchi.

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The Second Bridge, Coda, pt3

Ate dinner.  Put down 800 words.  No one else here.  Why the heck not keep going? So:  1200.

I’ll be wrapping all this up – well, sorta – in part 4.  Gary figures out what he wants to do with his life and we flick back to ‘present time’ with Lauren and Henge riding home after fishing.  I learned something very surprising about present-time Henge today!

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The Second Bridge, Coda, pt2

This is taking on a life of its own.  Just as most of my stories do.  I’m not letting myself get dragged into a discussion of biomechanics for pt3, so I’ll deal with that as quickly as I can.  Especially as I’ve heard Gary’s last words in the last scene.  I must return to the 2nd edition of Echoes of Family Lost and the copy-edit of The Saga of Nichole5.

I also must keep writing each day.  Tricky, that.

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The Second Bridge, Coda, pt1

I was just tooling around the keyboard, kinda thinking I’d write a story about Faustina.  I wrote two paragraphs.  Two days went by.  Nothing.  I looked at the third paragraph.

“I can turn this into a glimpse both into what happened after Henge was made, as well as a tinier glimpse eighteen months into her future.”

And…

“Who’s Lauren?”

I deleted the first two paragraphs and tried again.

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Empire’s Agent, pt.(7)

Back on track.  I re-re-read what I’d re-read yesterday.  I’m just a middle-aged hack, but FFS, that was awful!  Was I really drunk enough to write that?

I didn’t even bother editing it:  deleted.  Let’s try again.  Sure:  dashing Arpad is something of a player; nothing at all wrong with that.  Has he a history?  Well, lookie here…!

[Personal aside:  thought about this all morning.  Left phone upstairs in pharmacy while I went to eat lunch in ground floor cafeteria.  Rather than troll news sites, I spent the next forty-ish minutes thinking about this story.  Bits.  Pieces.  Glimpses.  Pic…

What?  Oh:  “picnic.”  My imagination opened like a carpet.  Arpad owes Lily a lunch at her hospital, but after that… they’re going to go on a little date… how, why, where… don’t bother me:  I’m writing!]

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The Second Bridge, pt.8

Much better now.  My wife made the astute observation:  “this is going to kill you.”

Of course it will!  But I rather die in a weltering of my stories than a drugged plant in front of the teevee, shoveling cheesy-puffs into my mouth.

Below, originally from my second novel, Echoes of Family Lost, are two now very old friends talking shop.

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