Notched another 5300 words on the Apocalypse Picture Presents rewrite. Magic Meter stands thus:
Approaching the end of Act One. So far, I’ve retooled my protagonist, ret-conned in an important plot point, and cut an entire chapter. It’s been slow going, as readers of these reports already know. But the hardest part of the rewrite is looming just ahead in Act Two. I’ve been dreading it, dragging my heels. And yet, somehow, none of my avoidance behaviors have made it go away. Funny, that. You’d think I’d learn.
Anyway, I have a few ideas about this rough patch. Don’t know if they’ll work, but then, I never do.
The team got to work, strapping on their backpacks, bedrolls, and weapons. Susan walked over to Gil. “So—about ten miles, would you say?”
“As the crow flies, yeah. But the terrain won’t be easy. If we get to Hollywood before sundown, I’ll be surprised.”
“No need to rush. I’ll take point.”
She flashed a strained smile and went to join the others.
He watched her, thinking again of last night’s . . . confrontation? Conversation? He didn’t know how to categorize it, and that left him out of sorts, distracted. That was no good, not for today.
Maybe he should have handled it differently. Maybe he should have cracked down hard on her. Or passed it off with a laugh. What would Cameron or Kubrick have done?
“Dumb,” he said under his breath. “Dumb, dumb, dumb.” He went back to the SUV to retrieve his gear.
No updates for Write Club.
No way to go but forward.