Dean Forrester had the ultimate life. He had money, he had women, he never paid taxes and most of his days were spent playing golf and drinking for free. He was prepared to live out the rest of his days like this - until one phone call from home ruined it all.

Monday, November 22, 2004

Semantic War

"Yeah, I mean, you've vanished to this mythical green to the north, where apparently you're so happy with pulling around someone else's golf clubs that you've managed to forget everyone you knew."

"I wouldn't say forget."

"I don't think you'll win a semantic war here, buddy."

OK, so 37,221 as of today. That puts it back on track after the predictably unproductive weekend. The corner is laid out for the story to go a little Harlequin for the next couple thousand words so I doubt I'll be writing it during my lunch hour. My pre-Thanksgiving prediction is that the story will be nearly done by the time a cooked bird is on the table, but I'll be about 5,000 words shy. That's just kinda how things are feeling right now. That isn't too bad though, because there are pages and pages of dialogue like the above that is completely devoid of blocking or prose related description, and I as found out the Emma addition to the Joy/Dean conversation, it can really build out the scene a little more. So I think this last stretch is going to be hard, but I think it's going to happen.

If I can get to the next morning with more than 40,000 words I'll probably be OK. Otherwise, it's Filler City.


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