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What is the Solex Thing

I guess I’m getting better writing in the night out of sudden necessity. School started up. Other unusual time taking activities have risen up along side. I need to be ready for next week too when I’m single parenty.

Yesterday’s writing was nearly crap but it gave me a good lead to start the rescue from fire scene. I need to spend a little time considering what must have happened to Brother Gane in the Shanty story so that I can have some realistic chance of connecting this version of him to that version. Since one of the key elements from his maquette is that he’s a faker having him not be faking now seems like a natural progression. Or maybe he fakes in a thin way.

I think maybe the solex company may have been replaced by something more spiritual. Maybe I need to better decide what the solex thing even is.

Tomorrow is my real test. I should plan for some scene writing

170 words on day 504

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A Rookery of Tin Pans

Two evenings in a row I find myself writing.

Brother Gane rests his elbow on the arm of the chair. He props his head on his thumb and middle finger and rubs his forhead with the spare index. The sun is down. The sea is black.

Behind him, through corrugated metal walls, the nighttime cacaphony of The Song swells with the tide. He resists the urge to check the time. Curfew will fall when it falls. Until then The Song will rattle and cheer and squawk like a rookery of tin pans. Many villagers already sleep. Only the bars and dance cans remain open for business. He stands abruptly and leaves his room.

Beetles clatter at a bare bulb lighting the gang running in front of his door. The early arrivers and first to perish crunch under foot as Gane strides to the railing and heads upstream away from distraction. A quick hres might muffle the noise, but it would also tug at his attention and he can’t have that tonight. Tonight he must find a way to extricate MC and bring her to [wherever] before this trial concludes. For that he needs concentration and time to work out the moves.

He checks the time after all: five more minutes.

211 words on day 503

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The Dark Deep Water

In 2010, Oklahoma said fuck the double digits I’m camping out in the 100s and you can see ninety overnight and like it. Through all the days and weeks and months you’d call Summer summer the tempuratures were hot. People hid indoors clinging to fans, unbuttoned shirts, and the AC. Today the fish we went hunting clung to the dark deep water.

The only one of us to find joy at the end of our line was my youngest. Each time she reeled in her line she exclaimed, “I caught one!”

“Yes, Sweetie, you caught another lure. Good for you!”

105 words on day 502