I’d announced to my family yesterday that there were leftovers in the fridge. I told my wife I’d not be watching anything in the basement, thus not turning on the pellet stove. To all and sundry: leave daddy the eff alone: he’s writing.
It’s 2245 now, past an old man’s bed time, but I’ve 3.2k words for today. MUCH more importantly are the milestones: I’ve radically changed Chris & Cat’s relationship with a pivotal secondary character, and got Chris baptized. Hey, when you consider yourself a writer of nominally Catholic stories, things like that matter.
So: I got the cousins from UCSD to the Hotel del Coronado. Pre-dinner politics. It wasn’t until Cat excused herself to the bathroom that I saw that Anton has lost his mother when he was a boy; that allowed me to radically change the dynamic between these three. This is going to echo through the rest of the novel; probably upping the death-toll, too.
Below the fold is another example of why creative writing sometimes scares me: as recently as two hours ago, not a single idea of any of this existed anywhere inside my head. Sometimes it seems for me that prayer is an ‘SDI’ project.