Word count: 14527 | Since last entry: 1142
For some reason, I’ve been terribly slug-like at work for the past couple of days. I have a freaking enormous to-do list and I’m not making much progress on it at all. I’ve been attending meetings, to be sure, and they’ve been productive, but I have so many other things that need to happen in between and I just can’t get motivated. I haven’t been going to the gym, either. Bad me.
The writing’s been going well, though. I wrote almost a thousand words in one sitting yesterday… a long, serious conversation that I’ve been thinking about since well before I started this draft. This is the point where the main character finds out that his problems are much, much worse than he even suspected they were. This is where he has to either start digging himself out — by becoming a different person — or give in to despair.
Today after square dancing I went back and nipped and tucked that conversation a bit. It’s still a bit infodumpy, and I’m afraid it might not be emotional enough. I had originally envisioned it as a huge screaming argument, but given the tone of the scenes that led up to it, it turned into more one of those long sad talks that leaves both parties crying. But they’re both Guys, so neither of them is going to admit it.
Thad hooked an elbow around a nearby structural element. He started to speak, hesitated. Tried again.
“You died just a week before scan number two — almost six months after your last scan. You know that, right?”
I just looked at him.
“Haven’t you wondered what happened during those six months?”
I considered the question. “Not really. No more than any of the rest of the two years I don’t remember.”
He turned away from me, spoke to the transparent plastic of the wall. “Chaz, this is going to hurt you. But you deserve to know.”
“Okay, let me hear it.” I wasn’t really ready to hear any bad news, but this was the first time in months anyone had even started to talk straight to me and I wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip by.