Here I am, back in my second home, back in The Burg. Good trip, eight and a half hours on the road, and catching the last rays of the sun as I topped Sideling Hill, just about where I figured it would happen. Had a lot of fun roaring down the winding stretch of the Penn Turnpike from the East Portal of the Allegheny Tunnel to well on the other side of Bedford, where most people are like, “Oh, this is kind of scary, better keep it between 55 and 60,” and I’m like, “I’ve driven the ten percent downgrade on The Green Hell at 110, outta the way, proles.”
I made it home in good time, six hundred and thirty-five miles in about eight and a half hours. I didn’t feel good most of the way, but that was just Indiana getting back at me for going on about how ghetto the east side of the state looks. No, really: some of the crappiest rest stops along the way. It’s like having to stop at the late, not-so-great Cabrini Green for gas–and you can fuel up your car, too!
NaNo was behind me yesterday, but I finally sat down about nine PM and wrote a little over five hundred words. Why? Because I said I would, and I felt a lot more alive than I had last Friday when I made the trek back to NWI. I was also having a cocktail, which seemed to put me in a mood to do something. And while the brain wasn’t firing all on cylinders, I continued the scene and arrived at a point where another truth has been revealed.
I’ll finish up the scene I’m on today, move the next scene to another part of the book–I’ve moved this once already, but where I’ll put it makes more sense–and maybe even finish the chapter this afternoon. Then I’m going to try something, because if I end up writing a couple of hundred thousand words, and then wait a few months before reading through it again, I’ll end up working on this story forever. Give the sort of things you can do with Scrivener, I’m going to try an editing process that William Gibson uses, but putting a twist on it. I thought about this on the later stages of the trip last night, and if it works it’ll save me time getting the story finished. It’s going to cut production for the next couple of weeks, but in the long run it should save me time writing and editing.
I’m finally ready to bring the classes onstage, and one of the first scenes is gonna take us to Flight School, where my little blond Jewish instructor–a former racer with the call sign Nightwitch–is going to show these kids how to fly a Class A PAV. And none of his Madam Hooch “Up!’ shit, either. No, she’s gonna show you how to fly the damn thing–and give you a cool call sign at the same time. Which means everyone who flies at the school has a call sign, and you know that means I’ve figured them all out.
Yeah, I do that a lot.