If and when I ever publish it myself, it'll be hard not to give in to temptation and have the cover art reflect that also. My worry is, that scene comes so late in the story that anybody who bought it because of the cover would be mighty impatient to get to that point, and heartily bored in the meantime. Guess I have to hope the story is good enough, without that element, that they are carried through to that moment, where, if I have any writing talent at all, I will have hooked them.
But speaking of if and when I ever publish this thing, we just had Mother's Day in America when I started this post, and a couple of days before that, I thought that this ("Into the Furnace") might be the first story I've written in years that might be appropriate to share with my mother. She was always (and still is) an avid reader, and though it's been twenty years since I had her read one of my stories, she has never actively discouraged me from my filthy habit.
I don't know that she would enjoy "Into the Furnace," but it occurred to me that, with a bit more planning and elbow-grease, I might have given her this story for Mother's Day, instead of the fat empty nothing I did give her. I wish I could just say, "Well, I'll buckle down and make sure to have the story done in time for her birthday," but my mom's birthday was two days before Mother's Day this year. I should be a better son, but hell, I should be a better everything.
I have managed a few more words (both in the notebook and on the computer), and I just might take my laptop to work tomorrow, to see if I can type instead of handwrite. So, that leaves our little word meter at:
By my math, my tale is fourteen percent done (14.72%). Not bad. Not great either, but I did take a couple of days this week to edit the audio drama that was my entry for this year's Masters of the Macabre contest. And though it was a lot of work, I think it turned out way better than the last two did.
That doesn't really get me off the hook for my dry run story, but it makes me feel like I'm not dragging my feet quite as badly as I could be. Ah well, onward and upward.