Notched another 5K on Wet Work. Cue timpani, aaaand:
These chapters are probably too long, and way too expository. The second act is still fuzzy. And the ending is pretty much a mystery. In other words, situation normal.
See how remarkably calm I am about all this? I am one with the chaos.
Here’s a snippet, for your edification:
Her father had shot himself when she was just eleven years old, apparently despondent after the loss he took on Black Monday, in 1987. Afterward, her mother had sunk deep into an alcoholic stupor. Neglected and sometimes openly despised, Emily had run away at sixteen, stealing as much of her mother’s money as she could find and buying a bus ticket that took her across the country on Interstate 80, all the way to New York City. She never learned what had happened to her mother. For all Emily knew, the woman had straightened up her act, found true love, and had birthed a whole new family. In any case, neither she nor anyone else had ever come looking for her runaway daughter.
More likely that she’d died of liver disease–which was how Emily preferred to think of her.
OSFest is coming this weekend, which will pose some serious scheduling challenges. Hoping to meet them better than I did last year at this time.
No updates for Write Club.
And I’m out.
