Day 2

Phil and Tina and Veronica are in town and Phil and Tina came through Morseland. Advent of the netbook with webcam means the daily picture can be taken anywhere -- today, Phil does a guest spot in the photo of the day. So lovely to see the two of them, always a pleasure, and always great to know that no matter how much time has passed that we have enough shared history that we can pick up where we left off, still know how to make each other laugh, and still remember all the old jokes.

So, we've already crossed the 5000 word mark (smack dab at 5300, as a matter of fact). As usual, not sure how good they are. The story is progressing as a series of flashbacks that old man Dewey (who has changed his name to simply "Dot") is having. Much easier writing the stuff that takes place in the present as opposed to the flashbacks, because that is much more flowy -- a combo of McCarthy & Beckett that I find very very easy (and satisfying) to write. The flashbacks require more structure because there is more interaction, and this is where (currently) the actual happenings are happening.

Anyhow -- three excerpts today. One, a lesson in how to construct a sentence:

He coughs, automatically, unwillingly, the sound comes forth from his throat like a revelation, the only thing real that he has heard, aside from the rain, and aside from the dust, the feel of the rain on his head, the general dampness in his bones, he is not sure that the rain is real, that the sound of the rain is real, that the dampness in his bones is real, and while he thinks about it, that the cough is real.

That's 81 words. Take that.

Now, for a more substantive excerpt:

Those words echo in his mind, anything is possible, he remembers her name, he remembers her face, he remembers her eyes, he remembers her voice, her questions, her desire to know that anything was possible. He remembers telling her, looking into those eyes, telling her, yes, anything is possible, everything is possible. He wonders how he knew that it was, where he found the positivity to convince her that it was, that it is, that everything is possible, his footsteps in the dust, and he looks behind him and sees a trail of footsteps, distorted by rain, by the sudden wind that swirls up, but still the footsteps obviously there, obviously made by him, and he realizes that this too is possible, that he has moved, that he is moving. If the world has moved on, as all evidence appears to indicate, then he too will move on, will move onwards.

This is from the "present-day" section, and I like it, and I like where it came from.

And from the corresponding flashback:

Everything is possible, he thought, and realized that he had said it, had breathed it, his mouth against the nape of her neck, the most amazing thing his lips had ever touched, aside from the rest of the places on her body that they had explored earlier.

"What was that?" she asked. He lifted his head, reluctantly removing his lips from that mystical place, that amazing skin. He looked at her in the eyes, "Everything is possible," he repeated, louder, firmer.

"Is it?" she asked. "Is it really?"

"Yes," he said, and with his eyes tried to show her, didn't know if he was showing her adequately, but tried, and at that moment, vowed to himself to always be trying to show her with his eyes, knowing that his words would not suffice, that words would never suffice, and if anything was possible, that it would be possible for him to show her with his eyes just how true it was.