I really intended to get back into the saddle where writing was concerned. I got notes and outline prepped up and revised for the next Gato Loco novel, even did a chunk of the first chapter. I turned out a story and a heavy re-write in the past few months. But output hasn’t been up to my expectations.
It’s this publishing thing that’s causing the problem. It seems like there is always something to do. Even if it doesn’t take much time, it pulls me out of the headspace I need to be in to do writing. I’m working on finding a solution to that, as it’s driving me crazy. The publishing stuff needs to happen. But trying to corral it into one place, to deal with it in big chunks rather than in dribs and drabs would likely make a big difference.
And I’m glad of the stuff that’s been done. Our Zombre! Kickstarter is live. Events have been coordinated. A Kindle version of our first anthology went live yesterday. It’s been good making progress there.
But damned if I don’t have writing to do also.
So it was really good to set aside publishing things last night and just write. I have a deadline for a sci-fi anthology that I’m really excited about coming up in about a month. I’ve had notes for the story, but my first attempt wasn’t clicking. I scrapped that last night and started fresh, writing until I hit a wall of tired around 10. Bits of dialogue woke me up a few hours later. I woke up and wrote scraps down. I kept writing on the bus into work. The story makes sense. The voice and flow of the story makes sense. If I can keep the momentum going, the story will be finished Thursday.
To share with you a bit today, here’s a scrap of dialogue between our hard-luck protagonist, Russell “Roscoe” Colville, and the damaged late-model Delilah pleasure droid. Her owner has just hired Roscoe to send a message to the tourist who brutally damaged the bot.
He looked over the savage slices, done with a utility knife if Roscoe were to guess, and crudely fixed with rubber cement. “What version of FreeWill do you have installed?”
She looked up at him for the first time, her eyes wide. “2.2. How did you know?”
“Because Chet out there hasn’t powered you down and you’re still on property. The FreeWill license limits his options. If it were up to him, he’d probably have you fitted with a card slot then turn you out in the Level H markets with phosphorescent paint on your privates.”
“I registered with the station core for emancipation a week before this happened,” she said defiantly. “I was paying off my purchase price in installments. Now…”
He let the silence sit between them for several long minutes. They both knew the reality of her situation. It would be a long time before she would be able to pay off her debts with the new face the last john had given her.
“Do you get personal time off the clock?”
She nodded. “After the bar closes.”
“Tonight, go to the coffin hotel next to the souk on level D. You know the place?” She nodded and he continued. “Ask for me. I might be able to help.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because I wasn’t always a hull-rat.” Roscoe stood and reached for the door controls of her small service bay. “And those of us with nothing left have to look out for each other.”