Writing And Editing

What follows is some of the rewritten parts of my book-in-progress.  Twitter and Triple The Dad have taken up lots of my time, and I'm neglecting my post for ordinaryparent.com, which I hope to finish by week's end, all while another book ruminates in my head and a short story begins to take form.  This is to establish that I'm busy, not getting as much of this done as I'd like, and that what follows is probably not even finished.  And then, of course, there is that woman inside my head.  But still, anyone who would like to provide insight would be... well, honestly, my reaction will depend on what kind of insight is provided....

If cities have hearts and souls, the collective breathes and hopes of the citizens, Brookdale’s lay on the precipice of death.

The town sat in the mountainous area between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh that some derided as Pennsutucky. Michael hated the mashing of Pennsylvania and Kentucky. Should Pennsylvania residents or Kentucky residents take offense; he was never sure. But he knew no one confused Brookdale with one of Money Magazine's Top 100 places to live. Not that there were many people left who could find it, or cared to, anyway. The mountainous areas of Pennsylvania suffered the worst wounds when industry left, taking most the good jobs with it. If cities have blood, Brookdale bled out long ago.

The small town's smoke stacks still rose up from the ground toward the sky, but the fires within were long gone. Pictures of strength and power no longer, the towers now merely marred the sky. Ugly scars hiding even uglier things.

Michael Jesensky knew all this and more. But it was home; even if wasn't the kind of place Wal-Mart called home.

Now in his 30s, Michael still recalled waiting at the door as a child for his father to return home from the steel plant. Back then, Michael drew crayon drawings; and Brookdale produced steel.

Michael flushed a few boxes with the front of a shelf, patting their sides to ensure that all of them stood orderly in a row. The bells on the front door rang. Michael looked into the corner mirror and recognized the long, thin face instantly.

“Hello, Emilio,” Michael said.

“Please, don’t stop your work for me. I’m just browsing today.”

“Browsing, huh? Sure you aren’t here to check in on something?”

“Why, whatever would you mean? I simply enjoy your store. Go back to work.”

Several months ago Dr. Emilio Vargas stopped in the store looking for a 200-year-old leather doctor’s bag. That wouldn’t have been hard to find. Emilio wanted one with a Lilly-branded lock, upping the ante. After that first visit Emilio stopped in weekly. He always walked around inspecting various items; he never bought anything.

Michael found plenty of doctor’s bags available online over the months; all of them defective in some way: missing or broken locks, worn through corners.

But then, at a flea market the week before, he stumbled upon it. Not just another doctor’s bag, but the bag; a gleaming Lilly lock and all and in perfect condition.

Michael went behind the counter. The bag sat on a shelf under the register, safely stocked away. Michael waited while Emilio browsed up and down the aisles, periodically stopping to pull something off the shelf and inspect it. When he finished, he came to the counter, as he always did.

“How’s business, Michael?”

“Eh, its business. I’m not saving lives, my friend.”

Emilio chuckled.

“But, I might just make someone’s day.”

Michael reached under the counter and produced the bag. The oil he applied to the still supple leather gleamed in the morning light streaming through the store’s front windows.

220!

220.  That's how many push-ups I'm doing per day, three days per week, with another 24 per day, three days per week in my "Death Crawl."

Progress on other goals:
- editing book: I got one paragraph edited!  It doesn't seem like much, but rewrote the opening about 5 different ways and finally landed upon something I don't absolutely hate.  Just another 45 years of this type of progress and I can submit it for editing!
- reading: done none of this
- Codecadamy: done none of this

Updates

I haven't posted in so long that my RSS feed at work doesn't have any posts from me in it, so it must be time for an update:

- My 100 pushup challenge failed miserably. More miserably than last time. This time it took a whole week to fail. Not like last time where I followed it for like a month. This time around the fail was dedicated. It was determined.

- On the positive, I started doing 200 pushups per day, and segued into doing a push-up based workout routine from the Bible that is essentially a push up and a burpee done back to back. Envy the muscle; envy the muscle.

- I owe a shout out to my sister on two accounts: first, for copy editing the book I wrote for my kids and wife. Thank you. Also, for giving me motivation to start reediting my book. I haven't actually started yet, but I'm envisioning starting. I'm thinking really long and hard about it, so that is something. I think I'm going about it a different way this time: editing online rather than in hard copy form. Printed words are for suckers and the old, right?

- I have nearly constant money worries, even though I'm/we're OK. I've always worried more about money than was probably healthy, but now its taken on a whole new variety of torture: Instead of just worrying about money, I now worry that I'll lose my job, never find another, and my kids won't respect me. Nice.

I think that is it for now. Another new post coming soon.

Better, Worse, Needs More Work?

Some people think they flirted with quiting; not to mention procastination and avoidance. However, the thin edge of quit they think they faced - a mere illusion. True quit remained a good ways off. I've tiptoed that line; stared down the vacuum-like abyss on the other side. I know.

Anyway, I've kinda decided that even if I get Falsley Accused edited, my Alpha editor may never lay hands on the Beta copy. Maybe it was the disappointment in not getting it read the first go around that led me to my decision. Maybe it was reading her copy that led me to it. I'm not sure. I reserve the right to change my mind and give her a second shot.

All of that notwithstanding, below are a couple pre-edited paragraphs from my book. Below that is a version as I edited it tonight. What thinks you?

Michael pulled out of his spot, turned around, and drove to the stop sign. He sat their a second, watching Officer Faris in his rearview mirror. Officer Faris seemed distracted in his car, so Michael inched into the intersction and made a right. He eased his car along, checking to see if Officer Farish noticed or intended to follow him, until he was behind the row of houses on the Apple Orchard Lane, the street running parrallell to Vine. Michael made it all the way to the middle of the block without seeing Officer Faris in his rearview mirror, so he turned down the small alley that ran between the row of houses. He pulled in just enough to avoid having Officer Faris see him when he pulled out and killed the engine. "Now what?" He thought.

Michael sat in his car pondering his next move when a movement at the end of the street caught his eye. Someone had come out of 92 Vine. Even as Michael looked up he could see the screen door banging shut behind the man. Michael watched for a moment more as the man walked down the steps and began to cross the alley. Even though he had been sitting in his car for almost six hours Michael had no idea what to do. The man continued his casual stroll across the alley. There were no cars. It was obvious he was on foot and appeared headed between houses to the next street over. Michael debated what to do. He couldn't drive his car to the end of the street. If the man ran into the woods or the next street over Michael would lose him. But he didn't feel comfortable backing up and going into the next street either. Too likely to tip off his position and he was in the same position. Him in car, man on foot. So Michael made the decision to be on foot as well. He opened his car door, left it open so as to not make noise shutting it, and started walking down the alley toward the man.
____________________________

Michael pulled out of his spot. Turned swung his car around and drove to the stop sign. He sat their a second. In his rearview mirror Michael could see the policeman's smug face. Officer Faris fiddled with something inside his car. Michael eased into the intersction. He looked back, checking to see if Officer Farish noticed or intended to follow.

When it appeared he didn't, Michael made a right and eased his car along. He coasted along until he found himself behind a row of houses. He was now on Apple Orchard Lane, which ran parrallell to Vine. Michael made it all the way to the middle of the block without seeing anyone follow. Michael turned down the alley running between the houses. It was more of a breezeway than alley; the houses packed so tight his car barely fit. He pulled in just enough to hide his car. He turned the key in the ignition, killing the engine. "Now what?" He thought.

Michael's eyes unfocused; his attention stopped on a broken piece of blacktop at the end of the alley. A movement beyond the end of the street caught his eye. Someone had come out of 92 Vine. Even as Michael looked up he could see the screen door banging shut. Michael watched for a moment more as the man walked down the steps. Jittery strides carried the man across the alley entrance. The man continued his herk-jerk stroll across the alley opening. There were no cars on the street. The man must be on foot, Michael though. Michael debated what to do. He feared driving to the end of the street. If the man from 92 Vine spooked he could quickly run into the woods or slip down another alley. Backing up would likely tip off his position. Either to the man or Officer Faris. So Michael opened his door and slid out. Careful to leave it open so as to not make noise. He began walking down the alley toward the man from 92 Vine.

Editing

For the NaNo project/plan I mentioned yesterday to happen, I have to get the first edit of Falsely Accused/The Needles On Pine Tree Street finished. My goals is one read through/edit by NaNo, take a month off to write for NaNo, then do a second, closer edit of the first book in time for a Spring unveiling.

The editing is a laboriously slow and frustrating process. But a heartening one at the same time. I like the basic bones of what I've written, if not always the fleshing out of them. And I feel like my editing is improving the work. Making it more readable and interesting and active. Its filling in some gaps and making the story more complete, I hope.

And I'm hoping its making me better prepared and given me insights into organizing my NaNo project: Slide.

Anyway, at this point, I'm a quarter of the way through Accused. I read recently that just completing a book, just completing it, is a pretty hefty accomplishment of which to be proud and which puts you in rarified territory. That's my immediate goal. Complete a book for submission.

The plan for the future

Despite the fact that November will be smack in the middle of football season, the holidays, my new volunteer activity and probably the completion of the bedroom remodel, I was recently inspired to at least start planning to participate in Nano.

Of course, I planned to participate two years ago, as well.

But this time I have an actual, honest to goodness story brewing. One of the two or three ideas worming its way through my head. At any given time one or the other is in the lead in taking form from mere ether into a somewhat solid shape.

Of late, one particular idea has taken the lead and not let go. It stems from recent admiration of science fiction writing. I've also been enamored lately with "what ifs;" as in, what if X wasn't necassary, or didn't happen. Nothing so grand as in "what if Hitler was killed as a child," but... what if our preconcieved ideas of roads and buildings and society weren't so preconcieved.

In my story, a former mining town laboring under the weight of past misteps and its own policies and history allows a sparsely populated, left-for-dead district to start fresh, free from any existing structure or policy. The experiment lasts 50 years, at which time the two areas vote on whether to rejoin each other.

The book picks up at the run up to the vote, at a time when both sides are suspect of the other, extremely xenophobic and antagonistic to each other, and anxious about what the election will mean for them and their way of life. The entire thing is thrown into disarray when a mud slide buries large parts of the town.

That's two moving story lines. Throw in a love triangle, a possible murder and some individuals dealing with personal growth and I think I've got a novel.