It's done. The first draft of Dead Broke is currently fermenting in a dank back corner of the hard drive. In a few months I'll haul it out, clear away the mildew, and very carefully open the file lest it explode.
More likely it will whimper and fizzle, and that's fine, too. As long as something is left to work with I'll be happy.
Once it was done I took a few days off from writing. I wandered around the house bumping into furniture I'd forgotten about while trying to decide which of the other three novel manuscripts needed my attention.
They all do.
I finally decided to go with the first one I'd written. It hadn't been touched in so long it screamed when the mouse clicked over it. I'm pleased to say it's calmed down and I'm able to work on it.
Before it's too far gone in the fermentation here's a bit from near the end of Dead Broke:
"He glided out of the room. His bare, brain-burdened head cocked to one side to avoid the lintel."
Not writing means more time for reading. I just finished Pharaoh by Italian author Valerio Massimo Manfredi (first published in Italian in 1998. English translation by Christine Feddersen-Manfredi, published, in 2010 by McArthur and Company).
The author is many-times published and an archaeologist whose specialty is the ancient world.
The book is a thriller set in the middle east with plots to cripple the US and take over Israel while a tomb is discovered that could rip the faith from the three major religions.
It's a good page-turner, good for taking readers away, and bits of it read like a reasonable echo of 9/11 despite being put out three years earlier.
" 'Please allow us just a few minutes," said the man with the coat. 'You'll realize that we had no choice.' "
Thanks for being here. It means a lot to me.
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The City on the Edge of Forever (1967)
5 hours ago