First off, Happy Flight 19 Day! If you’re not sure what that is, pick up Close Encounters of the Third Kind and watch the opening where the sun came out at night to sing. You can also read about them here. Just remember: anyone can get lost on a dark and stormy night, especially us writers and post World War II fliers.
Second, if you were expecting to see another excerpt today, sorry to disappoint you. I got home last night pretty much burned out and not feeling good, and since I had something else to work on, I got into that for more than a few hours. By the time I got around to my writing time I couldn’t really get the scene started, and the hundred or so words I did write seemed pretty weak. So I’ll recharge as best I can today and start on it tonight, because things are gonna get said in this scene, and a few more secrets will pop out.
And that last part brings up the third part here, the telling of secrets. If you’ve been following the comment sections for the last couple of months, you’ll see I’ve been engaged in a conversation with one of my readers over this novel–in particular, there’s been a whole lot of questions about Annie’s and Kerry’s relationship. Some of the questions have made me thing, some have made me smile, some have made me sad, and some I’ve laughed out loud after reading them. But there seems to be one answer that I inevitably come back to almost every day:
“I can’t answer that because it hasn’t happened yet, and if I did, I’d give things away.”
That’s really one of the hardest things I have going for me in this series, because I have pretty much meta-plotted out a lot of the story for like–well, actually, decades. It’s one of the reasons I have a time line that goes out beyond a hundred years of their lives, because I needed to know how they lived, how their friends around them lived, and eventually how they all died. I’m like that because I’m a bit strange, right? I mean, who knows their characters to death–and beyond?
Along the way over the last three years I’ve let slip a few things here and there. We know Kerry will come out as a witch at the end of his B Levels. We know that Annie and Kerry end up in the middle of Russia in the middle of the night and see an aurora–I actually had two blog posts on that. Back in December of 2011 I first mentioned The Polar Express, a trip Kerry goes on for a weekend, and I left clues here and there that Emma is his wingmate on that flight. All the way back in March of this year I wrote about an event where Annie and Kerry will be tested during their C Levels, and they’ll leave the school and head to the land of Walker Chow and hope they don’t end up the same way. I’ve even mentioned, in sort of an off-hand way, that Annie and Kerry tour Europe one summer while they’re between levels.
That’s just a little of what’s a huge story–
Oh, and I mentioned I know what happens to them after they die. Yeah, I even went there.
I’ve sometimes had to become a bit of an unreliable narrator so that I don’t give anything major away, and some of the things I have mentioned are painted in real broad strokes–I mean, okay, the kids go on a summer tour of Europe. But what else do you know? Not much, really. I know it all, however, and sometimes I really want to spill it–but I can’t.
I have tons of notes and all my time lines, and a couple of months because I actually left written instructions on where all that stuff goes if something should . . . well, we know what I’m going to say. Some lucky person gets the legacy of all this unfinished work, and what they do with it–if anything–is up to them. They’ll get a huge first novel and then a lot of information on what could have been, and if they want they could give it all a go and write all that stuff out.
Or probably not. I mean, I could easily have a good fifteen years ahead of me, writing full-time, getting all the story out. Assuming it ever got published and read.
The future is there, and even though it’s bright I don’t need shades to see it. All I gotta do is start up my computer, look over a few things, an instantly be transported to a world of my own creation.
I do wonder, sometimes, if someone else I want to show around will ever go there with me . . .