I debuted my costume yesterday, and one woman almost went into shock. I seriously thought she was going to medicate herself with insulin because my costume idea is so sweet. I also bumped into a crew dressed up as the Chanel 4 News Team, featuring Ron Burgandy, Brick Tamlin, Brian Fontana and Chase Kind. I think Wes Mantooth was also there, but I didn't see his mother Dorothy Mantooth. I've heard she's really great.
The novel is closing in on its ending, and I've got time today to wrap it up. I haven't counted how much I wrote yesterday, but it was pretty significant. I had about an hour and a half of undisturbed writing, and I sped right through a pretty important scene. For anyone who's read the book, I finally killed off the reporter for the Windsor Borealis. That might bring you some satisfaction.
63 pages (2 more)
35,871 words (1,369 more).
173 pages (2 more)
100,609 words (1,369 more)
In case you were wondering what this is all about and you wanted to a taste, here is an excerpt from Chapter Six of Part Two.
Police Chief Hal Doric was driving home from City Council – it was late, and he surely wasn’t going to receive overtime for it, either. He was huffing and grumpy. He was in such a bad mood, and it wouldn’t take much to set him off. And that’s when it happened.
A bright red 2008 Mustang GT was in his rearview mirror. It was next year’s model, out already. Even for this time of year, it looked shiny and waxed. Someone had put a lot of care into keeping that vehicle in tip-top shape. Its wide front end purred deeply as it gently cruised up into the lane beside him at a stoplight. There was a woman with beautifully kept blonde hair searching through her purse. She wasn’t facing him, and all he could see was that her hair shined as brightly as her car’s front end.
He smiled, until she turned back to face the road, and he realized it was his ex-wife. Annie Dori.. no, Showalter now. Annette Showalter. Her face hadn’t aged a bit in all these years. Her windows were up, and she was tapping her fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of whatever song was playing in her car. Probably that latest song from that fucker-band, “Take Your Husband’s Money,” thought Doric.
Hal was still driving a piece of shit that he bought 15 years ago because he couldn’t afford anything. He was still paying a mortgage on his home and he hardly took any vacations all because he was so damned broke all the time. Yeah, he was paid well by the city to be the chief of police, but he paid most of that money to his ex-wife. The worst part was, she took his money, and spent all her sugar-daddy’s flow, too. She had two incomes rolling into her thousand-dollar-Paddington tote clutch bag, and no plans of remarrying. Why would the bitch? She couldn’t afford to get married, not at the salary she was receiving. She was making way too much staying single.
Doric sneered and thought of nothing but getting back to his hole-in-the-wall and taking out a stiff bottle of whiskey. He’d taken enough abuse today – and abusing himself with a bottle of booze was his ironic reward for it. It’s funny how we love the things that hurt us.
Glass in hand, Doric flicked through the channels on his television. He didn’t have cable, just an antenna, and he got about six scrambled channels. He was okay with it because he got the major networks, meaning he was supposed to get some of the best television programming on the air. But even that disappointed him now.
The game shows were just ending, and the prime-time programs were just coming on – and it was all trash. The networks were supposed to be delivering quality entertainment. They were the networks, for God’s sake. They had the money to put great shows and super casts together, but no, they’ve got reality shows, game shows, stupid dramas all unscripted and ... man, it pissed him off. It seemed the networks just waited until something clever made it big in
One contestant was smacked by the rotating fan and tossed into a pit of water.
The mill! Doric had forgotten entirely that he was supposed to warn Gordon and Hallimut!
Yeah, intense, I know ;)
I'm literally about 2,000 words away from finishing. Today's the day! Then hockey, so no celebrating (N) [yeah, that's the msn style emoticon depicting my mood - usually I'm (H)!!]