My problem, other than trepidations of failure, is that my ADHD riddled muse can't figure out the story she wants to tell, (That's as good of an excuse as any). In fact, it wasn't until I looked at my first blog that I realized the lead character was supposed to originally be named, Edward Blue. I like that name and may change it back.
There are several story ideas I like, which have some story under them, but only a few which consistently call to the ole muse of mine. To assist myself with staying on target, I recently joined a local writers' group. The first meeting I will attend is this Thursday. They do writing sprints and a critiques of submitted works by members.
The thing I like best about them is that they won't allow me to participate, or even be a full member, until I have attended two meetings. They are actually serious about the craft and require one to become vested as well as to submit material.
Now my decision is which story to work on while with the group. I am strongly considering, "The Gavel's Echo." I often refer to it as Echo for short, so don't fret when I do that.
Here is a rough excerpt, in need of editing/revision, which may be the prologue, but then again, it may be the start of the first chapter.
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Echo
“He wants to be famous,” I thought. That was my impression
of the slick who now kept me waiting. The relentless bastard spent over two
years sending me letters, begging for an interview, and was now late for his
own appointment.
The letters he
sent, sometimes two a week, were annoying at first. Along the way, I do suppose
they became a form of entertainment for me; a welcomed distraction from the doldrums
of life, expected. Leaning back in my chair I allowed myself a slight chuckle
as I fought off the thought that he had better not be wasting my time.
Ha, time, I had
that, so what did it matter. In fact, it’s all I had left as I waited
for the end of it. My family and friends, not that there were ever many either,
were either too old or too dead for visiting. The occasional arrival of a birthday
card was all that let me know I wasn’t the only one left from the old days.
Ah, the old days, how I missed them so. And truth be told, I missed more days than anybody justly
deserved to. Then again, maybe that’s just my own bitterness rearing its ugly
head.
Nearing the end
of my trail, I do spend more time looking back simply because there’s more to see looking in that direction. That’s just the way it is when there are more years behind
than ahead. For many, looking back makes the good times better, bad times not so bad, and
once frightening demons get tamed. How I wished I was among the many.
Few, if any,
left the trail behind them I have. Oh, I’m certain every man has encountered or
created their own demons along the way. Mine were just bigger and harder to
escape than most. Of that, I have little doubt.
Death Row, that’s one hell of a
demon to shed.
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I'll see if I can't turn that into something more palatable to kick off the story. Thanks for reading if you made it this far. I will try to update the blog after I attend my first meeting.
Happy writing and reading, y'all.
