No crows this morning; they must be sleeping it off, or they were busy hauling messages for The Imp to all his favorite “ladies”. Or maybe they simply didn’t have time for me because they were off being crows. I guess I should worry if one touches down on my hood and starts cawing away like mad, because it’s probably not good news.
At this very moment in time there are three scenes remaining in Act One of The Foundation Chronicles. The first of those scenes I’ll knock off today, because I don’t see it taking more than a thousand words to write. It’s possible I may actually start writing the second scene today as well, another that I don’t see taking a lot of words to finish. And the third . . . there’ll be a short discussion between Professors Lovecraft and Sladen over a what they want to do that day (hint: it involves dinner) before they clear out the last of the students from the Saturday night Midnight Madness, and then Annie and Kerry head back to their tower, have a short discussion of their own, and . . . End of Act One.
But that is the future, and at the moment the past is on display, and that was the revelation given in last night’s scene. It wasn’t long, but it has enormous implications for their story:
(Excerpt from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)
This surprised Annie, because she felt she already knew Kerry, and her experience told her the lonely, sad boy The Foundation watched was not her love. “It seems so strange hearing Kerry described in this way—”
“This is all different for you, too, Annie. The Kerry you saw in your dreams—or I should say visions—was likely a far more stylized version of the boy in the here and now. Now that you’ve seen—”
There was such force and certainty in Annie’s voice that Deanna was unable to speak for a few seconds. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I was with Kerry in my dreams.” Annie sat up and leaned towards the seer. “They were not visions or simple dreams: I was with him. We were together, just as we are now. That is how I know him; that’s how I know his name.” Tears began forming once again. “That report doesn’t know Kerry—I do. I’ve known him for years.” She started weeping. “But not any more. Not even here; we don’t meet in our dreams. And he doesn’t remember me. He doesn’t.”
Deanna thought hard about what Annie was saying and understood the implications. She said she was with him in her dreams—but that’s only possible in astral travel. Kerry couldn’t have known how to travel astrally at any time. And Annie said they were doing this when she was two. That’s literally . . . She pushed the thought away and concentrated on consoling the distraught girl. “When did you stop seeing him in your dreams?”
“Maybe near the end of June.” She reached for another tissue and blew her nose. “Maybe the start of July. But it’s been at least two months.”
“And you can remember all your old—dreams?”
Annie nodded. “All of them. I remember it all. But the first time we met in London, even though I recognized him after a few minutes, he didn’t recognize me. He still doesn’t.” She sniffed loudly. “He remembers nothing.”
Naturally I knew about this because–well, just said I did. This is where plotting things out helps with those little meta-plot issues, and you don’t have to worry if something you’re writing about now will need defining in the future, or if it’s already popped up on your literary radar. This isn’t always for everyone: it just works for me.
It can also be a little frustrating, because I’ve known this moment was coming for a while, and since I like to write in sequence I usually have to wait to get to the parts that I’ve seen coming for weeks. Like the scene above–there is something relating to it that will happen in Act Three, and I won’t write about that for months. Bummer, because it’s a great scene, and I’m going to love writing it.
Then again, I’ve maybe fifty great scenes to create before I to that point . . .
But it’ll come in time. Yes, it will. They all do.