The Hook at the Core

In yesterday’s post I said this:

 

In fact the scene is just short of thirty-one hundred words, which makes it a big scene, and it’s something I should finish tonight.  “Should” being the operative word.  I’ve seen that plan fall through more than once, but I’m confident I should finish tonight.  Should.

 

Yeah, about that . . .

Should came up last night in the form of a long nap, a trip out for dinner, a couple of adult beverages, and just a general feeling that this was a bad week and I needed some relaxation prompted me not to do too much.  I managed a few words, but I really wasn’t into writing.  I mean, it’s been a week of ups and downs, and for the most part I’ve been taking Friday nights off.  And, for the records, I wrote, from Monday to Friday, four thousand, five hundred, and fifty-three words, which is a nice weekly total.  If I throw last Saturday and Sunday into that mix, the total rolls up to almost six thousand, eight hundred words, and that’s a short story a week right there.

I’m not going to complain too much.  I really need to take a break now and then.

However, I’m never quite away from the story, even when I’m not writing.  So while I’m sitting at Red Robins sucking down a Baileys Irish Cream milkshake–and I had two, ’cause it was that sort of week–I thought of the hook for this story, what’s coming for my kids–

It’s change.  More than just being able to do magic, too.

The statement has been made a couple of times that the kids are growing up fast, that they’re more mature, at least in their relationship, that others at the school.  But in the last year both my kids saw a vision of their future, and it was . . . well, it was pretty straight forward about where they were headed.  And now, after yesterday’s post, it looks like they may be out on their own, and perhaps preparing to get their ya-yas out–

"Cassie, I hate being a character in your story and pretending not to know what you know."

“Cassie, I hate being a character in your world and pretending not to know what you’re talking about.”

Sucks, don’t it, Chestnut Girl?

Annie turns thirteen in this novel–pretty soon, actually–and Kerry goes through the same thing once the novel gets on towards the end.  For the first time in this world they’re beginning to realize that they are changing, and that there’s a whole lot about them that is different–

And that’s all a bit scary.

I thought out how this current scene ends, which I sort of knew, but I worked out the detail last night without writing anything down.  That happens today, and then we go on to their Gift testing, which is just another indication they’re different kids–but they already knew that:  they were out on a secret mission four months earlier–as they were reminded by Deanna–and how many others in their level did the same?  Um, let me see:  add nothing to nothing, twice nothing, take away the nothing . . .

You get the idea.  They’re different.  And now they’ll start realizing they’re just like the other kids who are going through the Big P, only none of those kids have see what may be waiting for them when they’re done with school.

There are no big bads stalking my kids in this series of stories, looking to snuff them out of existence so they can take over the world.  The enemy they face is something even worse:  their own lives, and how they’re affected by those around them.

In other words, being teenagers.  Magical teenagers who deal with a lot heavier shit than wondering if they can work up the nerve to ask Jenny out to the dance, or see if Billy wants to go to a movie.  At least in those Normal instances one never had to worry about a monster eating them while they’re out . . .

I promise I’ll write today.  I want to finish this up.  Besides, I need something to do before I go get food and my nails done, and I’ve got a that makeup party tomorrow . . .