Kicking Writing's Butt

Nice, Jennifer. Keep it up!

It's amazing what a little change of scenery will do, that, and an enthusiastic writing partner. Laurel has completely uncorked my writer self. We've done morning, afternoon and evening exercises and then split up to our respective rooms, her to write and me to rewrite. People, I have completed, completed mind you, the fix-up rewrite of Horizon, written and integrated an inciting incident just like Les Edgerton told me I should, then read through and fixed up the rest of the manuscript. I am done. Done like an overcooked meatloaf. "Stick a fork in me, I'm done" done. Yee! Haw!

In honor of my doneness, here's what I wrote this morning while we sat in the sun and sharp wind on the riverwalk.

The spring sun shown its tepid heat through the thin veil of clouds. The wind from the west still carried the cold of late winter on its broad shoulders. The women walked along the riverside, hands in their coat pockets, one with a cigarette trailing the aroma of orgasms long past. Even though they spoke to each other, they really spoke to themselves, each rolling out pain and frustration like laundry bleaching in the spring sunshine. The lash of cold brought by the gusty wind carved them to the bone, excising truth to be flung to the sky and carried away like last autumn's leaves.

All I can say is, "ahhhhhhh. Man, this feels good." Looking forward to Thursday.
--Barbara