Another 5K on Apocalypse Pictures Presents. Or, as Magic Meter puts it:
Ran smack dab into that blank spot I mentioned last week, but sussed out just enough of the story to plow ahead a little further. On previous novel projects, this would have been stressful and frustrating, but it’s happened to me so many times now that I’ve come to think of it as a natural part of the process. It’s just the way I do it, gang. Should the day ever come when a publisher wants to see an outline of a novel project before I write it . . . well, I guess I’m screwed.
Your snippet, fresh from my fevered brain:
“All right, we’re done for the night,” she said. “Let’s head back to camp.”
No one argued. At once, they moved down the hill, southward. The campsite was about half a mile distant.
Susan watched as they went, preferring to take the rear. She’d already scouted the way between here and camp. Any possible threat would come from the north.
It was their second day in these hills, and the third since they’d started their stealth training–a new regimen, but one they would need when they went into Hollywood. Gil had been unsure that playing hide-and-seek in the woods would be effective for an urban infiltration, but Susan had insisted that any drills would be better than none at all.
The crew had gotten plenty proficient with weapons and combat, as Mayor Brooks had learned to his sorrow back in Delano. But they’d had no real ranger training. In many ways, it had been like starting over. Susan had no doubt that they would pick it up–or some of them would, anyway–but they were out of time.
World Fantasy Con is this week, which will pose a major challenge for my productivity. Cons are funny like that. We’ll see how I do.
Write Club update: I neglected to mention a piece that had come back from Realms of Fantasy a week or so ago. I thought I had gotten it in the mail in time to reach their P.O. box before they shut it down–but apparently I didn’t. Now I’ll have to wait until they open for electronic submissions. I can only categorize this as a rejection caused by the ever-spreading obsolescence of snail mail. Technology marches on.
As do I.
