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And We Are Ashes: Chapter 4, Part 4
Nov. 5th, 2007 12:24 amI'm feeling like this part is going to need some considerable revision. I'm not sure how I feel about it. But I kept myself from editing it, so that's something. Of course, I also suspect no one's reading this yet, so I suppose the only person it matters to is me. So yes. I was having a really hard time keeping in mind that Ellicott was running the asylum in the sixties; for some reason, I'd always thought/felt it was the earlier part of the century. I wonder how much my mom can tell me about mental health facilities during that time period? I don't think she started nursing until the early seventies and I'm not sure how much drift there was in medical procedures and stuff at that point.
I went a little long tonight because I was within KISSING DISTANCE of finishing Chapter Four by midnight and I felt it was worth it to go a little over my self imposed deadline and finish the chapter than to post one scene tomorrow and then start Chapter 5. *shrugs*
10545 / 50000 words. 21% done!
Today's Word Count: 3,333
Current Total Word Count: 10,545
Estimated Total Word Count: ~100,000
What's bad: The diary entries. I really need more time to get into the mindset of The Mysterious Diarist and I just didn't have that. I'm also iffy about Sam's diatribe.
What's good: The Mysterious Diarist. He really helps me connect the lines to Daniel Elkins and the Colt, saving me a lot of metaphorical legwork. I also like how crochety Mary is. It's a lot of fun to write.
What pleases me: Mary scribbles a directional note in white chalk on the doorframe of yet another room and steps across the threshold. Though everything has been moved and distorted by the fire and the subsequent searchers—as well as the passage of decades—this room (137) looks like it was the center of some kind of activity. More furniture, piled to either side of the door, like they were once a barricade. The door itself is gone, the hinges twisted and snapped and the frame on the other side is scratched. Rotted and rusted fragments of bedding are piled in the back, like a nest.
Mary thinks of her last glimpse of her mother, before Juneau guided her away; screaming and wild-eyed like a Maenad, a Fury, choking the life out of an orderly—a man nearly twice her size. A man with thick, piggish features and a lewdly sensual smile that had raised the hackles on the back of Mary's neck.
The patients rioted, she thinks, toeing aside an ancient and frightful teddy-bear half-consumed in slick green-black fungus. But what were they rioting against?
( Are we going to talk about it, or is this just it? )
I went a little long tonight because I was within KISSING DISTANCE of finishing Chapter Four by midnight and I felt it was worth it to go a little over my self imposed deadline and finish the chapter than to post one scene tomorrow and then start Chapter 5. *shrugs*
Today's Word Count: 3,333
Current Total Word Count: 10,545
Estimated Total Word Count: ~100,000
What's bad: The diary entries. I really need more time to get into the mindset of The Mysterious Diarist and I just didn't have that. I'm also iffy about Sam's diatribe.
What's good: The Mysterious Diarist. He really helps me connect the lines to Daniel Elkins and the Colt, saving me a lot of metaphorical legwork. I also like how crochety Mary is. It's a lot of fun to write.
What pleases me: Mary scribbles a directional note in white chalk on the doorframe of yet another room and steps across the threshold. Though everything has been moved and distorted by the fire and the subsequent searchers—as well as the passage of decades—this room (137) looks like it was the center of some kind of activity. More furniture, piled to either side of the door, like they were once a barricade. The door itself is gone, the hinges twisted and snapped and the frame on the other side is scratched. Rotted and rusted fragments of bedding are piled in the back, like a nest.
Mary thinks of her last glimpse of her mother, before Juneau guided her away; screaming and wild-eyed like a Maenad, a Fury, choking the life out of an orderly—a man nearly twice her size. A man with thick, piggish features and a lewdly sensual smile that had raised the hackles on the back of Mary's neck.
The patients rioted, she thinks, toeing aside an ancient and frightful teddy-bear half-consumed in slick green-black fungus. But what were they rioting against?
( Are we going to talk about it, or is this just it? )
