And it's getting hot out here in the Southwest... so hot, you could bake cookies!
And hot in my head. In less than two months I went from nothing to a novel. Amazing.
Here is a little bit of Downpour, the novel I'm currently querying:
At the desk, I ask the librarian if she can help me find the book I’d looked up online. Suck it, Professor Old School. She tells me how to get there and shows me on the map; apparently I’m going to Narnia to find my book on electro-shock therapies.
It’s a climb to get to the top of the stacks and I head back to the rear of the building. There’s no one up here, although I may have just seen a bat. The sun has long since set and the eerie fluorescent lights flicker as I follow the letters and numbers into the furthest recesses of the library. The smell of old books and wet shoes treks along with me through the shelves lining the walls.
I find my book and rather than hauling my ass back down to a carrel in the main area, I find a table against a wall near the back shelves. This part of the library is so desolate, it’s actually rather nice as long as I don’t focus on the alone thing. I pull out a pad and get to work writing down notes on the history and invention of electrocuting and shocking people with severe disabilities and behavioral disorders. Good times. After seeing some of the post-therapy pictures, I make a mental note not to ask Clinton to go for barbecue anytime soon.
From a later chapter in DOWNPOUR:
And deep down, I am so impressed that Clint still goes to court every day along with going to his classes, doing all of his work, and helping Jack with a new museum research piece. It gets harder and harder to keep my mouth closed when I see him slowly breaking down.
“I need to get going. Court is in session in thirty minutes.”
I look up at him in surprise. “You have a test today in chem.”
“I’m aware of that, Mark.” His voice is sharp, unlike his usual slow, calm cadence.
“Are you going to ditch class to go to court?” I ask trying to use my peace-not-war tone.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll see how I feel.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I say as I tug him into my lap as he walks by the couch. “I know court is important, I know being there, in that room every day, is necessary.” He tries to look away, but I pull him in for a kiss, then mumble against his lips,
“Please make sure that you’re taking care of yourself. Don’t let this take over everything from you.”
He stands up quickly, and yells, “How can I not let it take over everything?” Pacing along my living room like a caged animal, he runs his hands over his face. “I’m doing the best that I can.”
Poor Clint :(