Reached my midnight deadline with ten minutes to spare. I rewrote half a novel for a new and different audience in five days fueled largely by M&Ms and coffee. I don’t know that it has bolstered my flagging faith in humanity, but it has certainly renewed my drive to fight, argue, and be the contrary jackass that I know and love.
I harbor more than my usual hopes of success for this novel… though it has only a ghost of a chance. If you know what that means, you’ve been paying attention.
The completion of the rewrite is a bit bittersweet. Monday night as I was trying to break out of my log jam on this story, my good friend, editor, business partner, and fellow CoVid conqueror Elaine was in a terrible car accident.
I remember our crew waiting on the ramp for a C-5 full of kids to come from Saigon. A “faulty” cargo door was blamed for it never arriving and the plane load of dead babies. But standing on the ramp and hearing the news was surreal.
I awoke Tuesday morning to find not only did my housemate and friend not make it home, but she never made it to work and was in the surgical ICU. Even though, I knew it before the words confirmed it, it was like that experience with the plane.
Elaine is alive and at home now. I am not at liberty to describe her injuries, but they are many. I seek for your prayers for her. This is the time and the place that duty, principle, and honor is tested. The ultimate success of our publishing business and this novel are resting on the reactions of two old warriors. Can she rise up and edit it, and can this zingless phantom make the final edit sing?
Pay attention, children. We are about to show you what we can do. We are not the mask wearing, fearmongering, residents of some old folks’ home. We are scarred warriors about to kick life’s ass and turn out a novel January 1, 2021 that will break hearts and put them back together again.
The beta readers await.