Snagged from Wil Wheaton on Twitter:

Good advice from Elizabeth Bear: “The scene does not have to be perfect. The scene has to be written.”

When I first started writing this story, it spring-boarded from a “journal entry” I wrote for an extended scene in the epilogue of Heir. Of course the journal entry was written in first person. So the first bits and pieces I wrote of this story were also written in first person. But then I convinced myself that it was strange to be so deep inside Michael Devon’s head, so I switched everything over to third person. Preston said today that he loved this story and where it’s going and thought it would be cool if it were still in first person, reading like that journal entry…He may have a good point…

Man, I really gotta find a title for this story. :chuckle:

The story is coming along quite well. Too well in some instances, though. Yesterday, I sat down all ready to read over one scene before I wrote another and got a shock. The scene I thought I’d written wasn’t anywhere except still all up in my head. I had just worked it out so completely, so thoroughly that I had convinced myself that I had written it!rotfl So I’ve sat here since trying to find the best way to funnel that scene out of my head and onto the screen (I no longer write longhand unless I’m away from my laptop for some reason). That’s been a chore because of course in my head it’s “just so”. Reading it just isn’t doing it for me. UGH! (and people think writing is easy! :smash:)

Usually when I think of Harlan, this is what comes to mind:

Life sucked. Cold rain poured on this gods-forsaken town lost in the hinterlands of the mountains. Thing was, Samantha Clark detested the small town, but it did beat living on the street, her only other option. The county was dirty, the people rude, the mountains claustrophobically close; the county had no bowling alley, no roller skating rink, and no coffee shops. And the rain made everything worse. Sami sloshed across the parking lot soaking her sandaled feet. She never dreamed a sky so full of sunshine could produce so much rain, especially when mid-August usually saw this part of the Kentucky landscape on the fringes of drought.

All this trouble for postage stamps. It just didn’t seem worth it, somehow. She stood dripping in the foyer of the small post office. After glancing around to see if anyone was watching, she stepped out of her sandals and dried her feet on the ugly green carpet before running inside the building.

And when I close my eyes and think of the darkness and how I felt when I lived there, and the mood I wanted for Midnight, this is what comes to mind:

[snapped today from the Harlan County Tourism webcam located in downtown Harlan]

disclaimer: poetry and fiction snippet content are my own original content. unauthorized reproduction of any post content, without prior written permission, is in direct violation of applicable copyright laws.

[disclaimer: this is an excerpt of my first book and may contain spoilers.]