Art of the Odd

Last fall, just before Viable Paradise, I started reading Something Wicked This Way Comes. In the midst of catching up on the VP instructors’ works, though, and then starting into the madness of NaNoWriMo, I didn’t finish it. But I spotted it on the shelf Wednesday, and thought, “I should pick that up as soon as I finish Boneshaker, then I’ll start into Bitter Seeds.”

Last night, just before bed, I started back in where I’d left off.

“Three,” a voice said.

Will listened, cold but warming, glad to be in with a roof above, floor below, wall and door between too much exposure, too much freedom, too much night.

“Three…”

Dad’s voice, home now, moving down the hall, speaking to itself.

“Three…”

Why, thought Will, that’s when the train came. Had Dad seen, heard, followed?

No, he musn’t. Will hunched himself. Why not? What did he fear?

The carnival rushing in like a black stampede of storm waves on the shore out beyond? Of him and Jim and Dad knowing, of the town asleep, of knowing, was that it?

Yes. Will buried himself, deep. Yes…

“Three…”

Three in the morning, thought Charles Halloway, seated on the edge of the bed. Why did the train come at that hour?

Is it any wonder I snapped awake at 3 AM, admiring that seamless shift from Will’s POV to his father’s, and thinking that it isn’t true, as Bradbury states in the next paragraph, that women never wake at 3 – because I had, and ain’t I a woman? And then I pondered whether I could use his POV tricks in the novel I started (and no, didn’t finish) during NaNoWriMo, which has three POV characters and tripped me up when I realized that a certain scene wanted two of them.

Fortunately, Mr. Bradbury’s grip on my early-morning mind loosened quickly. But it’s got me thinking again about what I wrote in November. I just reread part of it, and it’s dreck, but the bones of the story are there, and I think it’s a good one. About time I tossed out the hastily-written rags they’re clothed with and got down to work.

Work is heating up, with the usual “We need it before the holidays!” nonsense. This makes it challenging to focus on anything outside of work. I’m working on it, though. I went to my dance class tonight, despite the temptation to say “I’m too busy” and stay home. I also went despite the wheezy and the swollen-eyed and the low-energy that comes of the air quality having been even worse than usual the past few weeks. And I cooked dinner, too. So now I’ll write for half an hour and try to do some knitting before bed, and tomorrow I’ll take a close look at my workload and my schedule and figure out exactly what I need to do to get myself situated for the holiday next week and reaching that magic 50,000 words by the end of the month.

How did it get to be November 15 already? I’m a bit behind on NaNoWriMo, though not unsalvageably so. I have been keeping up with NaBloPoMo, so that’s something. I managed to cook one real dinner this week, and pickle some grapes (which I haven’t tried yet, though the brine was certainly tasty). I’ve also made good progress on NovySan’s Doctor Who scarf – I may not have it finished by Christmas, which was my original goal, but I’m now confident I’ll have it done by his birthday (and that was my second goal).

G’night, all.