Unfortunately, most of those words were, sort of, crap. So one day, after stalling going forward again, I read back over a pile of largely crappy words, and I haven't really been able to get back into it since then, because most of my "progress" wasn't really progress, it was crap. And the rising and falling tension doesn't lend itself to any traditional plot structure, and... stuff. And no matter how hard you try to explain that nearly two thousand years of indoctrination of the masses by evil-overlord forces evil-overlord to send goons starting with the least powerful and making one step up each time rather than skipping to ultimate killing machine lest he short circuit the indoctrination and topple the theoretical framework on which his empire is based... it still sounds like a cop out.
And stuff.
Plus the very beginning probably needs to be rewritten because it's too negative for the ending.
Anyway, month of beginnings, here's the beginning of Something, a novel I had originally hoped to have completed by the time I graduated high school:
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Last year I died. It’s no big deal;
happens all the time I’m told. They come in with a zapper
-defibrillator it’s called- and boom you’re no longer
dead. So simple right? Dead, not dead. All over like nothing
happened.
Except it’s not.
Except it’s not.
Dead people aren’t s’posed to come
back. It was only a matter of time before something went wrong,
before something came back with us. I guess it was just Murphy biting
me in the ass that made it be me. I always thought that I lived, and
of course so did everyone else, between life and death. I mean think
about it, you’re never truly dead till you are, and who have you
met who’s fully alive?
Course it’s not like I had a choice afterwards, I had to pick one or the other. It’s always been true that the closer you are to death the closer you are to life, I guess being dead let me live.
Course it’s not like I had a choice afterwards, I had to pick one or the other. It’s always been true that the closer you are to death the closer you are to life, I guess being dead let me live.
1
I woke up to an angelic face. She was
beautiful; exactly what I would consider perfection. Even the flaws
were beautiful, her right eye was bigger than the left, it was also
lower, but it evened out with the tilt of her head. Her eyes were
dark green, with little yellow and orange flecks, no doubt they
changed colors from time to time.
And the smile, I loved that smile.
White teeth, all perfectly in line. Canines were a bit longish, but
otherwise as perfect as a toothpaste model. Red hair, there is no
better color, although I’m convinced that with the proper shade and
highlights one could make green or purple hair that good looking.
Freckles, no face could be complete without freckles. They blended
well, not like the ones that stand out and don’t seem to belong
there, the ones that seem like if you took them away the person would
be incomplete.
She had something I didn't recognize,
but did. Like something you know, but don't know where you know it
from. It was a- I’m not sure what it was, a group of hair -not
braided- that was like a ponytail at the side of the face. Held
together by a crisscrossed leather strap. It was cute, like the
intentional version of the one strand falling the face you see so
often.
Of course after that I didn’t see
her. They attributed it to a post death hallucination, said no one
was in the room until the doctors came in the next time I opened my
eyes. I didn’t see her come, obviously, and I passed out again
after getting a good look at her. Other than the fact that the rest
of her was attractive in kind I don’t remember much except her
face.
[more]
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