Matthew S. Rotundo's Pixeltown

Another 2800 or so words on the Apocalypse Pictures Presents rewrite brings us to the end of chapter sixteen, and brings Magic Meter to here:

Took care of a lot of business in this chapter, many important revelations that will drive this sucker to a (one hopes) resounding conclusion.  I can’t help feeling that I’m finally emerging from the weeds, that I might make it out of this rewrite alive.

At which point, one would expect the ground to fall out from beneath my feet.  Have to watch my step, I guess.

A snippet:

Angel nodded.  “If you harm me—“

“They’ll kill us whether we harm you or not.”  Susan raised the rifle, slammed the butt into Angel’s head.  His eyes rolled up, and he collapsed into a heap.  As Catherine watched, some blood trickled from his ear.

Susan stood over his unconscious form, breathing hard.  “We have to get out of here.  Now.”

No updates for Write Club.

Walking on.  Carefully, natch.

According to my calculations, I logged about 3300 words on the Apocalypse Pictures Presents rewrite.  That number actually seems a little high to me, but it’s what I got, so I’m going with it.  Here’s Magic Meter:

And here’s the part where I normally whine about the glacial pace of this rewrite, but honestly, I don’t feel like it.  I have to remind myself that I had originally written this chapter from one character’s POV, decided to recast it in another POV for the rewrite, but got a few pages in before I realized I needed to redo it in yet another POV, which meant starting the chapter over.  Then I had to wrestle with a thorny plot point for a bit, until I realized that it wasn’t so thorny, after all.  A few lines added to a previous chapter, and it was resolved.  And the rewritten narrative is flowing fairly well at the moment.

So you know, between revising old copy, drafting new stuff, jumping from one POV to the next, and switching back and forth between macro and micro issues . . . I actually feel like I”m doing pretty damned well.  Which is a rare and strange thing for a writer to be feeling, but I’ll take it.

A snippet:

“Is anyone else here?”

“No.  It’s just us.”

“Are you sure?  If we search this place and find someone we’re not expecting, it’s not gonna end well for them.”

Catherine had no difficulty believing that this woman had murdered her father.  “No one else, I swear.  What are you doing here?”

Susan spoke to the other women.  “Check the rest of the house.  Quick.  Shoot anyone you find.”

The women nodded, their faces grim, and moved past Wendell and her.  The older one went down the hallway toward the bedrooms; the younger headed for the kitchen, and presumably the basement after that.

Catherine tried again:  “What are you–“

“Quiet.  If I hear any noise I don’t like from anywhere in this house, you and your friend Wendell here will be the first ones to go down.”

No updates for Write Club.

Forward.  That-a-way.

About 2600 words later, I come to the end of chapter 15, and of Act Two.  So sayeth Magic Meter:

Still progressing much too slowly for my liking, but still progressing.  Can’t bring myself to complain too much about that.  Beats the hell out of the alternative.

Last week’s revisions also included a quick retcon—for certain values of the word quick.  Have to be very careful with retconning, you know.  But this was just a small thing, and I kinda needed it.

Up ahead, Act Three.  And miles to go before I sleep.

Anyway, your snippet:

Berkowitz said, “So far, at least fifty homes have been gutted, and that total is only going to increase, especially if the fires jump the 101.  Thanks to you, most of my people are busy coordinating the evacuation of the entire eastern half of the Hills.  Oh, and we’ve had seven deaths, two of them children.”

“Damn shame.”  Fifty houses, seven dead.  Not bad.

“If we count the three at the Hollywood Bowl, that puts the toll at ten.  That was you at the Hollywood Bowl, I presume?”

Eddie only shrugged.

Berkowitz clicked his tongue.  “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me why you would do such a thing.”

“Woke up in a bad mood, I guess.”

The bald asshole maintained his composure.  Eddie was impressed; he was pretty skilled at getting under another person’s skin when he wanted to.

No updates for Write Club.

And I’m out.