Been Awhile

Four-month gap in posts… blech.  I’m sure a few of you are wondering if I’ve just completely fallen off the map.  Well, I’m still here.  I’m still working on We Left As Dust at least a couple times a week.  Life is busy, and I wish I could make writing more of a daily routine, but at this point I just can’t swing it.

Since I’ve been away from this for so long, I reckon I owe y’all somewhat of an olive branch of sorts, so at the end of this post, I’m going to publish another excerpt from Part I of the book.  Proof that it actually exists beyond the first paragraph!

I’ve been learning an awful lot through the experience of writing this novel.  For one, it is hard work.  The amount of respect I have for other writers has continuously grown, especially those who are capable of churning out 10+ books. I just can’t fathom having that much content in my brain.  Secondly, there’s a lot of things I would probably do differently, starting out.  I can see the value of programs like Scrivener that let you keep detailed notes of your story’s outline and characters all within the same piece of software you use to write.  Given that I’ve been working on this book in conjunction with two friends writing novels in the same universe, there needs to be some amount of networking involved, which makes using something like Scrivener difficult.  Another thing I’ve learned… or maybe something I’ve just been struck by… is how much a story changes from its original inception.  I started writing this story about… twenty months ago, and it has changed a lot in that amount of time.  Some of the tentpoles of the story remain unchanged, but so many details, so many character traits and idiosyncrasies exist in a nebulous, ever-changing state.  I imagine the editing phase will provide me with the best opportunity to solidify them.

Anyway, I want to get back to it, so I’ll make good on my promise and post an excerpt from the book.  This is a much, much longer one than last time, and is an important scene fairly early in the story (I think it’s in chapter four?) where the main character, Declan, meets a fellow survivor named Rebecca (these two characters make a cameo in Aftermath: Part III, if you’ve read it!) The meeting, like most in the world of WLAD, is tense and uncertain.  Hope you enjoy it!

He left the can in the embers and returned to the cafeteria, kicking himself for forgetting to grab a fork.  Upon retrieving the utensil, he returned to find the fire as he had left it, but the can of stew nowhere to be found.  The rain was falling steadily outside, the noise of it hitting the ground nearly drowning out the crackling of the wood of the old chair.  He studied the floor and saw wet footprints leading from the crevice to the fireside, and then towards the gap in the wall into the next room, fading along the way.  He had no idea how he had missed them on his way to check the fire.

Declan drew his gun and scanned his surroundings.  The flickering fire cast long, dancing shadows on the dark walls.  Corners were black holes, and he had left his shake light in his pack.  Slowly, he crossed to the adjoining room where his pack sat on the table.  His eyes darted around the room as he crossed over to the pack, which was curiously still full.  He took inventory of his items, reassuring himself that they were all still there.  They were.  This mysterious intruder had apparently only been after the food, which meant either they were a terrible thief or were still in the building and didn’t wish to provoke him any further.  A sign of trust, ill-advised these days.

He took a seat on the chair and took aim at the door into the hallway.  If someone were still here, they were somewhere beyond that door, and not likely far beyond it.

“Come on out,” he said loudly, trying to hide his anxiety with what he hoped was convincing cool-headedness.  No response came from the doorway.  The only sound was the rain lapping at the windows.  After a minute, he tried again.  “Let’s not do this.  Just… come on out.”

The barrel of the gun emerged from the darkness in the doorway first, a black, menacing steel eye.  A pair of dirt-smeared hands followed, clutching the grip of the gun without the slightest hint of a waver.  The hands were attached to well-toned forearms, upper arms sleeved with vaguely blue fabric, and eventually a pair of shoulders.  Finally the intruder stepped fully into the light.  To his surprise, it was a woman.  She had long, dark brown hair pulled back and tied up, tactically, not fashionably.  Drops of water gathered at the ends of locks that had evaded the hair pin.  Her face was adorned with the coldest green eyes he had ever seen, sharp cheekbones, and a stern jaw.  She wore a heavy, dirty denim shirt rolled up at the elbow, spattered with stains and dripping with rain.  Dark green cargo pants covered a pair of military-style boots.  A canvas messenger bag was slung over her shoulder and hung at her back.  She looked every inch a survivor.  Declan kept the barrel of his gun trained on the space between her eyes.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” he asked.  “You had a clean shot from the darkness.”

She looked at him incredulously.  “You hadn’t given me a reason to.”  He detected a noticeable southern drawl behind her attempt at concealment, the sort of which Declan had never picked up in his time living in the south.  Hers was a native accent.

“You one of them?” he asked, assuming she knew his meaning.

She looked down at her clothing.  “Shit, do I look like it?  Hell no.  Never.  I’m Remnant… every inch.”

“Good,” he said.  After a moment’s pause, “You take my stew?”  A hint of a smirk appeared at the corner of her mouth in answer.  “Thought so.”

“Look, what say we lower the guns?” she asked tentatively.

“Why would I want to do that?” he replied.  “You ate my dinner.  People get killed for less these days.”

She shrugged.  “You’ve got another can.”

He hesitated, studying her curiously.  “Not of Dinty Moore, I don’t.”

She let out an exasperated sigh.  “Look, man… I’m sorry I ate your dinner, I was fucking starving, okay?  Now can we put the guns down, please?”

He slowly began to lower his gun in synchronization with her mirrored movements.  They each holstered their weapons and were left facing each other, hands hovering at their sides, not quite ready to stray from the holsters.

“You got a name?” she asked.

It was Declan’s turn to be incredulous.  “Why?”

“Jesus, man, lighten up.  Yeah, world’s gone to shit, but we’ve still got names.  We’re still human.  Some of us, anyway.”

He stared hard back at her, contemplating.  Eventually, he relented.  “Dec.”

Her eyebrows rose.  “Dec?  That short for something?”  He offered a blank stare in reply.  She walked over to him and extended a hand.  “Bec.”

Skepticism crossed his face.  “Bullshit.”  She kept her hand extended to him, and he looked at it for a few seconds before remembering the gesture, then shook it briefly.

She smiled.  “Rebecca.  I thought Bec might be more your style.  Bec and Dec, right?” she chuckled, then halted, disappointed at his lack of amusement.

So there it is.  I should post a disclaimer that this is raw, unedited first draft, so it is absolutely subject to change (and also subject to incorrect spelling and grammar…)

Hope you enjoyed it!  I’m still here, book is still in process, and I’m bad at writing blog posts in a timely manner.

Until next time.

–J.