Is upon me. Imminent. Happening today. So far I’ve not written a single word but I have seriously, SERIOUSLY started re-reading the manuscript and I’m almost done and THEN, I shall start writing. I haven’t done much to this book since November or December of 2012 and stopped, hovering ungainly around the 35,000 word mark and with my characters in a situation that I might *MIGHT* reverse course on.
But, in reading the last 72 hours I have determined that I will not make any changes to the current text, but I’ll just starting writing onto the end of it, knowing the changes that are to come as if they have already went.
If that makes any bit of sense. Which it kinda does…n’t. But that’s fine.
Anyways, I have a plan. But the cold medicine and the work-work are currently getting in the way. Also social obligations. But that’s it – aside from work and health and a full calendar of family and friend times… every other spare moment is devoted to writing.
But here we are again, my friends, blogging like a blogger should blog and gearing up for another insane month of insanity. I think I shall update on Fridays in the future. FRIDAYS FROM THE FUTURE. Or something slightly alliterative but quite authorly, and keep you all informed of the progress of not only this book, but of the first book in the series, which is completed and being read aloud to my spouse at the moment.
METAL HEART SYNOPSIS:
In a Dystopian future ruled by fear of a deadly virus, a young woman is orphaned after her parents die in a terrorist bombing. She is horribly disfigured by the same bombing and taken in as a ward of the global corporation, Prothero. They use her to test new medical nano technology, implanting her with an artificial heart, ear, eye, and arm. As a discarded experiment, she participates in mandatory national service while plotting a way to extract herself from Prothero’s clutches and rescue a friend from her past.
I have vowed it will not be sent anywhere until it graces his ears one final time. I know, he’s supposed to be the worst kind of critic because he’s my spouse but he’s the best and he doesn’t blow sunshine up my ass. Plus he pushes me to promote the damn thing which I could or would never, ever do myself. So there. He gets last dibs on any last minute plot shifts. Which will never happen because it’s done. Like, DONE DONE. Basically.
“Tin Road,” is not. This book is not even close.
Current Word Count: 39,386
Goal By End of Month: An additional 60,000 (2k a day)
TOTAL GOAL: 100k
Let’s do this.
BONUS POINTS: Here’s an excerpt from the current manuscript, the first few paragraphs of the first page of “Tin Road.”
Rabbit Santiago wants me to shoot him. It’s only with a hand-held EMP, and only to obscure the signal transmitting from the band around his wrist. But considering tonight I already shot and killed his best friend, it seems a tall and brutal order. I’m rooted to the spot, finger poised on the trigger when the sound of sirens stirs us. A hovercar is on it’s way, which means we need to be invisible. We hear the frightening wails before we see it mount the horizon, floating above the ground, moving like a flashing gray ghost. My finger twitches against the metal and the EMP gun kicks. Rabbit grits his teeth as the electricity canceling pulse sucks all the juice from the various tech instruments adorning his body.
“That hurts,” He grunts, rubbing at the glowing metal band around his wrist.
“It shouldn’t,” I say, crinkling my brow. Aside from a generally unpleasant feeling of static cling, the EMP guns are harmless.
“Well it does,” He snaps. “Now get down.” He grabs my arm and pulls us both to the earth. My knees hit the dirty grass first, my teeth biting into the rough soil. I let out a brief curse under my breath which I hope to hell Santiago hears. Then I spit out the nasty taste in my mouth.
His instincts aren’t bad. The hovercar rolls about a thousand yards past our position, towards the signal emitting from Clinton Fuller’s band. The RFID has called them here. Two floodlights attached to either side of the vehicle’s windshield kick on and the bodies become illuminated in eerie blue light. Beside me, still gripping my wrist with his fierce bony fingers, Rabbit sucks in a deep breath and blows it out. I catch a brief whiff of cinnamon, over-ridden immediately by the tang of sweat and metallic odor of blood. Clinton’s blood. We are covered in it.
“We need to get out of here,” I say, my vision locked on the scene. Neither of us moves. We’re transfixed by the steady motion of the machine and the fact that people are dead because of what we did tonight.