The second chapter of Couples Dance is down and done–as much as it’s going to be for now. I’m certain there’ll be another pass though when this is over, but for now I’m pretty happy. Sort of happy. Kind of happy.
Yeah, I’ll take what I have. Right now it feels good.
The first four chapters are really pretty small as far as the story as a whole is concerned. Each is between fifteen and eighteen hundred words, so I’ve got a short story to start setting up things for the strangeness to come. It’s the chapters that come after, that are eight thousand and six thousand, and ever one that’s nine thousand words, that are going to take some time. Those are the ones that will require a day, or more, to get cleaned up and somewhat rewritten. Seeing as how I have ten chapters to do, I’m guessing since a few chapters will require multiple days to edit, I could have another two weeks of work ahead.
On this story. No word on what’s coming next.
Well, I do know what’s coming next, and that work is coming along, at least visually. My three-dimensional layout for my school is getting bigger and bigger each day, and as I get better at this modeling thing, I can always make better trees and forests, and my building can start to look more like buildings and not some gray blocks on a green surface. It’s fun to do, to build this thing that has lived in the bowels of my memory for some time, but damn, does it take up time. You can write, or you can make things relating to writing. This is definitely the “Make things relating to writing” part, because I’m not writing when I’m working on this landscape.
At least Blender doesn’t kill my system like a few other modeling program have. Though once I get a few thousand trees laid out, I may need to go to a bigger system.
In a way this school has become another character in my story. Not that I don’t have a few already: there is, as they say, a cast of dozens waiting to walk upon the stage and have their say. Most will be small players; some are going to set up shop and be around for most of the stories about my kids. But as I lay out this place known as the Salem Institute of Greater Education and Learning, I see how it’s turning into more than a place where teachers get up and go through their daily routines, and the kids look for places to hide and make mischief when they’re not studying their butts off.
The school has become something organic. It is more than a collection of buildings and grounds; it’s a tangible thing. I am building its personality as surely as if I were making characters notes in a file.
People ask, “What do you do to get to know your characters?” That’s an easy question to answer:
You do whatever is necessary to turn them into living, breathing creatures.
Even when they’re made of dirt, wood, and stone.