So what do I see, I see typos, and plot holes big enough to fit a semi truck through. I see my Main Character as dulling filling page after page. Then I sit back take a drink of coffee, and it strikes me the reason why I am being so critical of this work, this character, and this book. It has nothing to do with the rough draft, I believe all my rough drafts suck that is what they are for, to be sucky in all their beautiful glory. This negative attitude is all about me, and my own self doubt.
For the first time, I am putting myself out there, a true piece of who I am. This really is a part of my life, though I have fictionalized it, and I am adding in stories friends have told me about their experiences working as front desk agents. The main character is me, in all her coffee drinking, frantic, stressed out dishevelment, I have chosen to put myself out there for others to read or not read, to curse and criticize.
excerpt:
Sitting up in bed, my
alarm clock glowed and played the soothing sounds of rain fall, and I
longed for real rain but today it is mid July, and I am coming off a close/open or what we affectionately call a clopen. With a mere eight hours between shifts, sleep
is a commodity I did not have the luxury of wasting. Summer is in high swing, we have a number of
groups staying at the hotel and it is going to be a busy day.
Pouring a cup of cold brewed coffee, I am out the door and
on my way and already my phone is vibrating, the other front desk agent texting to see if I could cover their shift.
Walking through downtown, and text back that I'm already covering a
shift this morning.. They are my second.
As I walked into the hotel, I got
the news that the other agent has called in sick, But the manager is looking for someone to cover
the shift, with that the night auditor
smiled. as he told me I should read the Red Book. Grimacing I knew that could
not be good. and to had frosting to my cupcake of joy, he called out as he was leaving. "Oh yeah, housekeeping is short a couple of cleaners
so all the rooms will not be cleaned by check in."
As someone who is very self critical, I look at the account and see everything I did wrong boldly written in black and white and I want to smack myself. For the way I acted, reacted and stopped acting. But in reality, brutal reality this is and was me, so here you go world. Make your best and worse judgments, I am ready. Ok I am not ready, but positive self talk does always help.
Now that that is out of the way, I wonder if I can go back and just write. Maybe, maybe not. But here is to trying.
So on day ten, I needed to reach 16,660 words, for each my writing and editing projects to finish both by the end of November. Well in regards to writing I am spot on. Editing on the other hand is taking more time than I figured it would.
For the excuses, I am retyping the whole thing from the start, and I can only type so fast. But in reality, the world needed more work than I first thought. The changes I am making need to be made, for the story in the end. But it is hard work letting go, of descriptions that you once loved, because they were beautiful, only to create a world were beauty is covered with the mask of oppression and fear, which is the state of Cave City when we first see it, in all its crystalline glory.
Excerpt:
Before:
Seeing the dark haired girl, Rachel
cannot believe her luck. Security might be an issue but it’s not as if they are
very bright. She begins to stalk the
girl as she wanders in and out of shops collecting more and more bags. She thinks “God she is the perfect patsy.” As the girl stops to grab something to eat at
one of the cafes she sat her bags down behind her. Rachel stands at the corner watching, as the
girl is engrossed in her conversation.
Casually walking past the table, Rachel bumps into the girl, picking up
the square package marked food solid.
Seconds later the sound of the
whistle shrieking it rebounds off the walls of the cave. Damn, the waiter must have seen her and told
the security officer. Rachel takes off, sprinting down the corridors of the
crystal cave, it is called this because the walls are made of translucent beams
of gypsum standing 80 feet high they formed the walls and columns that support
the ceiling. She knew the corridors of the shopping district like the back of
her hand, finding a small crack she knows it will lead her to Obsidian
alley. As she ducks into the
claustrophobic corridor she realizes that she needs to hock her goods fast or
else security will certainly realize it was her that just stole two pounds of
food solids. Though the stuff tasted
like crap, one person could live on this much for almost a year. When she saw that woman just lay it down she
could not believe her eyes
After:
Rachel spots a mark weaving among the stores and cafés, her
entourage of security marks her as someone important, although no one seems to
recognize the woman, anyone with a brain knows better than to say no to
Mitchell and his cronies. Rachel wonders
who this strange is, she seems oblivious to disparity between herself and those
serving her. As she stalk her target,
waiting to grab one of the many bags being carried by the woman and guards, Rachel
notices how otherly the woman seems, her
dark hair fall like black silk, highlighting her dark almond eyes, and high cheek
bones, but it is the golden glow of her
skin that marks her as truly not belonging in Cave City.
Rachel had spent her whole life, digging her way through the
Caves that made up her home, Like an
upside down pyramid, the larger caves at the top is where the poor like herself
lived. The elite like the woman she was following, live is the newest caves, dug
deep into the earth carved of stone and crystal. She always laughed to herself,
when the elite called their caves the upper caves and hers the lower. This had to do with status and not location,
the rich would never concede to the fact that they lived below the poor. If you believed the propaganda of Passadore,
it was the poor that lived off the rich dragging them down.
Looking around, even
the opulence of the once might Crystal Cave with its translucent gleaming
columns of gypsum towering more than 80 feet, to support the unseen ceiling had
been darkened by Passadore’s reign, where once people could come and go between
the caves, now there were numerous check
points, and gray, and green glow worms
replaced the once rainbow filled globes of light. What once had sparkled in her childhood, seem
dreary and somber. Hope was wrung out of
her home.
The woman had selected one of the most expensive cafés in
the city, casually setting her bags on
the chairs, and ground around her table, unware to the watching eyes, of
Rachel. Standing at the corner out of
sight of the guard, and behind Mitchell you had sat with woman, Rachel spotted something she had not seen in
years, a full block of food solids. How could the woman so casually fling about
something so valuable? Waiting she watches
as the woman, and Mitchell are deep in conversation, the walking casually by reaches down and
picks up the bag containing the brick of food.
As she rounds the corner, briefly she thinks that she got away, then the
shrieking of the whistle rebounds of the walls.
Looking back she sees the waiter and Mitchell chasing after her.
So here is to making what was beautiful ugly, and so it can shine even brighter in the end. To my main character making her on decisions instead of riding along on a predetermine path, set by a fate she has no say in. To seeing choice is a powerful thing, as much in writing, as it is in life.
Unfinished Projects: 3
Words Written: 17,179
Words Edited: 4567 only about 12,000 behind here.
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