Some 6100 words later, the rewrite of “Spectator Sport” is done. Magic Meter marks the moment:
I had hoped to cut about 1K from this draft, and was making good progress toward that goal—but in the last scene, I wound up adding nearly the same amount of verbiage I had cut from the preceding pages. It’s like doing well on the diet all through the week, only to blow it over the weekend. We all know how that one goes, I’m sure.
Anyway, this thing’s about 800 words longer than I would like it to be. But I’ve wrestled with it quite enough, thank you very much. It’s off to make its way in the world, bloated or not.
A snippet:
“You don’t understand,” Lucas said. “I have to do this. It has nothing to do with either one of you. Just give me a few minutes, and–“
“Listen to yourself, Lucas. Look where you are. Consider what you’re doing. Why on earth should it come to this? For a damned football game?”
“No, it’s more than that. It–“
“No, it isn’t. No matter how hard you try to tell yourself otherwise. It’s a game, Lucas. It’s streak of bad luck. That’s all. There’s no curse. Didn’t you hear anything I tried to tell you the other day?”
Lucas bowed his head.
Craig said, “I have to escort you out now. You understand, don’t you?” He reached out, took Lucas by the upper arm, and urged him toward the stands.
Next up—I’m back into dream time. Yes, that’s right, folks, the race I mentioned a few weeks ago is back on. Ooo . . . exciting!
Two updates for Write Club: Tier one rejects from One Buck Horror and Buzzy Mag. Response time was about a month for both of them.
Outta here.
