About 6700 words on Apocalypse Pictures Presents. Magic Meter drops in to report as follows:
I’ve finally hit it—that part of this rewrite I’ve been most dreading. And as I feared, it was like running into a wall. Didn’t stop me from charging headlong into it, though. Ah, the glamorous life of the writer.
Some significant redrafting needs to occur here. I know where I want to go, and I’m pretty sure it’s the right thing for this story, but certain logistical issues remain, and that’s gonna slow me down something considerable. Also, it’s time for me to do tax stuff, and I have some Writing Related Program Activities to which I must needs attend. That will slow me down even more.
So next week’s progress report might not be all that dazzling. Just trying to manage expectations here. Don’t want anyone to be too disappointed. See how considerate I am?
Right. Your snippet:
Susan got to her feet, glaring. “Knock it off, Gil. You’re not fooling anybody with this bullshit. You know perfectly well that the situation has changed now. A lot of lives are at stake, and outside of this Colonel Berkowitz and Ross Jergens and their pals, we’re the only ones who know. The only ones.” She glanced around at the others. “We have to do something.”
“That’s the kind of thinking that could get us all killed.”
“Oh, that’s considerate of you. Is that what you were thinking when they shot Johnny?”
A surge of anger operated his mouth for him: “I thought you said Johnny’s death was your fault.”
Susan’s eyes widened; she came up on her toes, every muscle seeming to tense, visible even from across the room. Gil had no doubt she would have belted him if he’d been within striking distance.
No updates for Write Club.
And I’m off.
