However, before we could go, and I had only mowed one lawn, my brother got a phone call (he's boasted that he still gets cell service in that little town, and I've no choice but to believe him) that someone had knocked down a powerline in the city he works in (it's the town I will refer to as Wallaceville in my stories from now on), and he had to get there as fast as he could to fix it and restore power to the neighborhood (he's a lineman for the power company, and has chilled my blood describing a man he knew who lost his life to electrocution five or six years ago, and how it's always a dumb, easily-avoidable mistake that could cause his death--a fact I need to keep in mind any time I complain how hard it is to write fiction or edit audio), leaving me and my seventy-one year old mother at the house to do the work.
Well, I ended up calling my cousin (who lives two towns over--the one I call McKay in my stories) to see if he would come help ease the burden, and I went back to mowing while my mom gathered garbage from the twice-damned tin garage, which has consumed multiple hours to get in the state it's now in, namely somewhat close to being cleaned out after forty-two years. I am fat and lazy and unused to physical labor (plus the damn injured ribs simply did not want me to start the lawnmower without frustrating pain), but I managed to get all the mowing done, and sat down to rest while I waited for my cousin. As I sat, I heard the sound of tires on gravel, and there he was, pulling into the driveway, only five or six seconds after I'd sat my lumpy arse down.
Luckily, with my cousin's help, we managed to drive over to the dump, and unload all the old firewood there, leaving my mom at the house. We talked about Star Wars the whole time, as we usually do, and then came back and made another trip to the dump, this time with piles and stacks and barrels full of garbage from said cursed tin garage. This time, big shock, we talked about Star Wars the whole time. Then we left to go have lunch, and ended up spending the whole day together, since my cousin's wife and daughters were out of town for the weekend.
We talked about Star Wars for, I dunno, six more hours, but I think we spoke of music and Transformers for a couple of minutes in there. It's good that I have one friend left that I can hang out with, especially since I am worse than mediocre at making new ones.
Oh, the whole reason I told you this was because . . . yes, I didn't want to write, and was looking for an excuse to do something else (in this case, blog). But it's nearly the end of March, and by this time tomorrow, my month of writing will be (ostensibly) over, and surely I can manage a few words before I go to bed.
Okay, I jotted down a scene where the point-of-view shifts to that of the villain, and I wrote five hundred or so words in a scene that should lead directly to the big confrontation. Like the one out-of-place chapter in "Into the Furnace," this is the first part of the book not from Lara's point of view (though I did write something earlier this week that detailed what happened when Lara left the room, though I don't know if that counts). I think another writer would avoid leaving the protagonist's point-of-view, or write it in a way that works better, but this bit works for me, since Lara is technically in the scene, and I've never claimed to be a great writer anyway.
I am, though, somebody who wrote every day in March. Mostly.
Words Total: 22,692
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