Dawn Patrol

There’s a reason I keep my alarm some distance from my bed:  it’s so I’ll get out of bed to shut it off.  If I didn’t, I’d be temped–like I was about twenty minutes ago–to stay in bed under the warm covers, which is where I really want to be today.

Strange dreams following me again.  I do mean strange ones, too.  Lots of running about and seeing unusual things, and at one point hiding from two girls in a trash bin.  Why?  Who the hell knows?  It’s a dream, and they almost never make sense.

More writing last night.  Another thousand words down over the course of a few hours, and it ended like this:

 

(Excerpt from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

The followed the professor down a hallway that headed towards the greenhouse. They exited the building, entering a connecting passage. Rather than going into the greenhouse, they turned left and exited the passage.

The small courtyard was located to the east of the Life and Earth Sciences Building and north of the greenhouse. At the south end of the courtyard was a wide, slopping path leading to the now open entrance leading to the lower level under the classrooms. In the middle of the courtyard sat five pallets with large bags stacked upon them. Professor Semplen walked up to the pallets, then turned and addressed the students.

“Every year we being anew.” Holoč always spoke in even, measured tones, because while his English was good, his Czech accent sometimes proved troublesome for the students. “This class is as much about lectures as it is about leaning by doing. This year you will learn about plants, and about their biology, but you will also learn how to plant them, to nurture them, and what to harvest at the end of the cycle.

“To do this we require the basics: seed, soil, and nutrition. The seed and soil I have already acquired . . .” He stepped aside and motioned towards the pallets behind him. “The nutrients have arrived.”

The Mórrígan student from Indonesia, Kalindi Kartodirdjo, noticed the writing on the bags and at the bottom of the pallets. “That’s . . .” Her voice climbed towards a shocked squeal. “That’s manure.”

 

Yep!  Crap in a Bag.  Do you remember any of the students at Hogwarts dealing with this crap?  Ha!  Here, you’re slinging spells one day, and the next you’re deep in the shit–literally.  I’ll likely finish up this scene tonight.  Maybe tonight, probably tomorrow, I’ll start on the next scene, and that will finish Wednesday classes.  Just a couple of more days, then the Midnight Madness, then Saturday, and then . . .

That’s the end of this episode of the first book.  It doesn’t really seem like that far away, either, because there aren’t that many scenes–maybe a dozen or so.  And if I write twenty-five hundred words each–which I won’t–then . . .

Hum.  The end of this story isn’t as far off as I thought it was.

I would appear I’ve got thirty more writing days ahead of me.