November writing day 8

So I've gone off my story. It's really cliche' so far, so I might go back to it, but today is hard to think about anything other than the election.

If you're not in the US, you probably know anyway, that today is election day in the US. And it's a frightening mess. No matter who wins, someone is going to be mad and there are people with guns that will be really mad if things go a certain way, and people with guns that will be really mad if things go the other way.

Either way, it's scary. So I'm hiding inside today. (well, I do that every day, but today I'm avoiding the news.)

But the sun will rise tomorrow. And life will go on.

But no matter what, there is hope, and hope always wins.

My 18-year-old daughter is registered to vote this year. Her great-great-grandmother didn't have the same right at 18. Susan B. Anthony fought for my daughter's right, even though she never got to exercise the right herself.

Martin Luther King had a dream. He was executed before his dream came true (and it still hasn't been fully realized, but compare now to then....)

JFK didn't live to see man land on the moon.

Many who marched in the first "gay pride" parades in the 70s didn't live to see same-sex marriage be the law of the land.

Hope always wins. But sometimes it works slow.

The only way to make it work faster, is to get off up your bottom, do what you can, whether that's carrying a sign, or writing a blog, or fighting in front of your local school board or city council. Or even just quietly speaking the truth with your friends and family.

Hope. Work for hope.

OK. I've ranted enough. Carry on.

November 6 writing

It occurs to me that I can't tell the dream sequence as a 'real' (within the story world) event in first person, unless I make it also a dream sequence there.

So I guess I either change the narrator or I have our hero wake suddenly from the dream and carry forward from there.

But my intent was to have that be a 'real' event in the story, with it becoming a murder investigation that opens up a whole can of worms.

I dunno.

Maybe I'll have an idea tomorrow.

November writing day 5

We last left our hero, or rather our victim, alone, in the dark, paralyzed by fear as something brushed past his leg on that wet Nebraska highway.

Whatever it was, it was big. It certainly wasn't a cat.

Shivering from the cold is replaced by shivering in fear, cold replaced by a sudden flush of heat as my body fights itself as an urge to run competes with crippling fear.

A low growl from behind answers that question and I'm running. Cold muscles screaming as they're pushed into sudden action. Direction doesn't matter, the fact I can't see anything doesn't matter, all that matters is escape.

Forward, with all my might, legs screaming from being pressed into service in the cold, I run. Sprinting hard.

The growling becomes snarling, and it's right behind me. The highway vanishes beneath my feet and I'm running on mud and gravel, And suddenly I'm running on air. Falling. Falling, falling....

I awake in a tangle of weeds and barbed wire. I can't know if my eyes are open or closed, or even if my eyes are still there. My face is a sticky mess of blood and heat.

Growling in the dark.

The last I remember is a light, red, reflected in glaring eyes.....

November writing day 4

I don't have it in me today to get into my story. The world just kind of sucks and I'm kind of angry and things just don't make sense.

But that's kind of where my story goes, I think. The walking-at-night-in-a-storm horror element is the opening scene of a bigger story. The person in the dark is the first victim of the monsters - which are us.

A cliche' yes, over-used, yes, but there is some truth, some reality to that. Too many groups, especially churches, eat their own. They cannibalize themselves until they're dead. My own church is going through a chapter of this, many insisting that things be done their way, that people think the same way, that everyone be pod people, intellectual clones of each other. It's pathetic.

And I think that's where my walking-in-the-storm becomes a bigger narrative. But how to transition from the guy disappearing in the dark to a bigger story of we're the monsters?

I don't know. But maybe just ranting through it will get me there.