AM or PM?

“Meet me at eight!”

Who hasn’t been there at some moment of their life?  In this case, Nichole and Joe go back to Portland, a diversion to Zom’s, some other characters show up… for dinner…

Oh my God, they leave the battlezone at dawn!  That has them back into the City around 0800!  What the hell am I supposed to do for the next nine to ten hours?!

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“You Are In My Vision”

Eleven days straight at Day Job.  At least I was able to think a great deal about what the hell might or might not be going on.  True to my style, I went for the minimalist approach.  So, we get a little overlap of the last scene from Joe’s perspective, followed by Nichole doing gallant machine things and Joe doing gallant human things.

I am genuinely happy when machines and humans compliment one another as men and women do.

Last Sunday, our parish priest – in anticipation of Thanksgiving – asked us to consider what we’re thankful for.  Besides the trite answers (“my family!”), what I really thought was that God let me see, and write, stories like this.  I don’t deserve it.

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“Barring RealLife…”

The next morning, my boss asked if I could come in for half days over the weekend, as well as cover some over Thanksgiving.  Given the Dog with the Golden Nose and my lay-about wife, I’ll take what money I can.  But, that means I’ll be working two weeks straight.  While I’ve the spirit to come home and write, my flesh is rather tired, dragging myself through the door at 1745 in the dark and cold.

But I’ll keep trying.  Here’s some more of Nichole.  I need to write the last two segments from Joe’s POV, so I can weave them together in the editing phase.

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“You’re a movie”

“Hey.  Aren’t you supposed to be writing?” My wife asked, per our agreement.  I’d spent a few minutes looking at ‘ground view’ on Bing Maps of the north side of the Lewis and Clark Bridge, followed by a few minutes of resting my chin in my hand.

“Yeah.  But I can only write what they show me.”

She nodded at that and returned to her studies.  She learned years ago that I watch a scene unfold in my mind as if I’m sitting in a theater.  When the reel stops, I just write down what I saw.  I’m more a reporter than a writer.

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Meta-exercise

Defiant began life as a writing exercise.  What if, I thought, during NaNoWriMo – which I am not formally taking part – I made a writing exercise of my writing exercise?  My slovenly, lay-about, unemployed wife suggested that she study some training manuals while I write each night.

“Fine.  Forty five minutes.”

“Why that?”

“Ten to immerse, thirty to write, five imbedded to tactical edit on the fly.”

“Okay.”

We started Monday. Not being an idiot, I’ve built in a 3-day lag for the blog, for RealLife(TM) events.  Dailies, these will be shorter than my typical additions.  I enjoy the exercise.

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Noblesse Oblige

Made some revision to the end of my last post, when I was blindingly drunk.  I’m now, of course – it’s Saturday night – but at least I’m older not to write!

Local politics.  I’ve no stomach for it, but Nichole has to have this out with the Mayor.  Fret not:  like all of Defiant, I cannot keep myself from killing people.  This overlaps a tiny bit, to my last post, because I saw the wrong things.

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