Wow. Today was SUCH a fun writing day!
It started out slowly...I feel like I say that every day. "It started out slowly, and I thought it was going to be awful, and then it was/wasn't!" Seriously, the first 500 words are the hardest. Once I'm past that, somehow it just starts to flow.
Anyway, today was more description--lots of talk and imagery about the Dissenters' camp. Thought I was going to get to introduce Jules today, but no such luck. Tomorrow for sure!
What was especially fun today was the dichotomy, and the symbolism. I did a lot of describing that was more about the Dissenters themselves than their camp. Also, I played with the idea of dust/dirt, light/dark (that's one of the major themes of my book, actually...that, and the ocean), and direction/lack thereof. Pulled a compass rose in for that last one, so there's the ocean again! Anyway, I am evidently going to be prepping some reports for tomorrow, so I thought I'd paste a few selections from today's writing in here to amuse you:
"They stepped away from the carved walkway, into a makeshift town. Tents, shacks, and hovels of all description surrounded them. They seemed to be dwellings—as they passed down the road of packed earth, Mer caught glimpses of uneven tables and sad, improvised bed nests. Dust billowed around their feet with every step, swirling up in a desperate bid for freedom before drifting, resigned, back to be trodden underfoot.
The road became more even, and suddenly they came upon a line of delineation. An intersection stretched before it. Halfway through, the road abruptly changed to smooth, even concrete. Behind them, acres of shanties lay in crumbling silence; before, squat, featureless concrete squares lined the pallid drive. Each had a small yard of poured concrete, a flat wooden door, and one tiny, shaded window set far back in the flat stone siding. Some of the Dissenters had tried to personalize their yards: here and there rough-hewn chairs sat, next to wilting ferns and the occasional child’s sprawled doll. Under the fluorescent lights, high and dim at the top of the cavern, these personal touches appeared desolate and meaningless.
Mer was distracted by the sight of a sullen child. It—for it was impossible to determine what gender it was—sat cross-legged in the center of its stone grass. It was plastered with brown dust from the cave walls, mixed with the fine white powder that seemed to lie over the entirety of the cavern. It was making mud-pies of dry, sandy earth, patting them together only to watch them fall apart as soon as its hands were removed. The child looked up at them as they passed. It was all muddy hazel eyes and dusty blond hair. Mer wondered what it was thinking, if, she thought, looking into those dull eyes, if it was thinking. A voice called from within the house and the child stood, all obedience. It brushed the sand from its hands, adding to the collection on its clothes, then walked docilely into the house.
Mer stared down at her feet, avoiding the sight of row after row of infinite homogeny. She traced finite fractures in the concrete, watching her steps stir the dust.
Mer noticed the road widening, and looked up to find herself walking into a massive, open space.
“Compatriot Commons,” Bryn said, answering Mer’s unarticulated query. “It was designed as a meeting place: somewhere to hold festivals, community events, and open votes.”
The concrete was cracked, here, with no attempts made to patch it. The dust was heavier than ever, as though this circle was intentionally avoided. The powder rose as they stepped down, choking her.
“I-it looks ab-abandoned,” Mer said, coughing.
“It more or less is. As I said earlier, those community votes never materialized. Neither did whatever parties they thought would be thrown here. Nobody comes here, now; not even the children.”
“So why did we come this way?”
Bryn paused, directly in the center of the circle. The center of the plaza was set with a round marble plaque, a compass rose engraved on its white, polished surface. Looking out, Mer didn’t see houses and empty roads, but rays shooting off of a great glowing sun, leading to all points of the crepuscular cavern.
“I always thought it was beautiful,” Bryn said simply, releasing Mer’s arm, sliding his fingers into hers, leading her away."
So I guess that's it! Obviously I've cut bits out of the above selection, which is why it doesn't flow so well as it ought. I didn't want to give you all 1,139 words, however! Oh, and speaking of, today I broke 80k!
...yes, I'm going to keep celebrating all of these silly milestones. Every 10k, every 25k, and any other fun ones I can throw in there. No, evidently I'm not getting tired of fluffing my own feathers.
Aite dawgs, time for me to peace! Audi!
Working Title: Bryn & Mer: Nosce Te Ipsum
Word Count: 80,512
Writing Mode: Satisfied. Also, my migraine seems to be in remission, so woot!
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