The days this week have been nickel-gray, with short glows of sunshine, if any at all. There is something touching about gray clouds, the way they fold across the sky, the clots of condensed mist spreading all over heaven, the chimeric images formed by ripples and piles. Once I saw what looked like a city skyline like a fantasy painting of some archaic place.
Yesterday and the day before I worked on Sleight of Hand (from 14,190 to 15,396 words so far).*** The scene I’m working on stands at 1,129 words at the moment. Despite the fact that I’ve finished the story, I’m still wrestling with doubt demons, Like worms in dirt, questions wriggle through my mind–is it any good; is the language interesting; are the characters worth reading about; is it a compelling story? How come the words are giving me such a hard time? Questions that can only be answered when it’s finally exposed to the light of readers’ eyes.
I’ve got a number of ideas floating through my mind; they fall like nuts from a tree, and I let them lie on the ground, afraid to pick them up, though now and then I gather a few and attempt to make something of them. But right now, today and next week, I must continue revising Sleight of Hand, which, by the way, is a steampunkish murder mystery. I’m planning a series of stories set in the late 1870s (1877, to be precise) in the adventurous West about Jerob Deal, ex-Buffalo Soldier, and his traveling companion, the vampire Rafael Torrance. Yeah that’s an interesting friendship!
***Had to make a correction, discovered I’d grabbed the wrong word count for the wrong manuscript. So Sleight of Hand actually grew a little.