Monday, February 21, 2011

True North.

Oh my. It's been too long since I've posted on here. I've been spending all of my time working on the novel--writing a little, stressing more and overanalyzing the most--and not enough time reflecting on the process. At the end of the day, I'm just so tired of staring at the computer screen that I can't bear the thought of writing any more. But! I will persevere! Not that anybody is likely reading this blog, but still. It more for me and my memories than anything else.

I took a much need mini-vacay this weekend. As a few of my friends wives and girlfriends were out of town (mine was as well), it was boy's night out. For THREE days straight. Everything from fishing to excessive Patron shots. And caffeine and cigarettes mixed with a terribly inadequate amount of sleep has taken its toll. I'm running on fumes today.

But fumes were all I needed, I got more pages done today and I'm pretty sure I've got an end in sight.

Daily Update
Page Count - 182
Sample -
"He set the spatula down next to the stove and came over to her. This was the point when the argument could get going. All he had to do was throw another hook and the bell would ring, but he didn’t. They both knew an argument would just be a distraction. Instead, he pulled her up from her chair and wrapped his arms around her. He felt him sniffing her collar softly and knew he could smell the cigarette smoke lingering in the fibers but she didn’t care. Mrs. Lisburn could smell the whiskey that floated out with each of his breaths. Neither of the couple commented about each others scents and after a time, he let her go and returned to the stove. She sat back in the chair and watched him as he scooped a soupy noodle substance onto her plate. He did the same for his plate and poured them both a glass of water. The other two place settings remained untouched."

"There was no question if the gun from Bryan’s shoebox worked any longer. He barely graced the trigger and cylinder rotated, the hammer rocked back and forth and the bullet fired true, from the tip of the barrel to the fleshy space between the esophagus and jugular of the man rushing at him on the rooftop."

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