Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Sick Day, Chapter Seven With a Fever

So today I was not feeling up to going to the office so I called in and slept late, rising at some point mid-morning to make a pot of coffee, sit in the kitchen and scribble out the entirety of Chapter Seven ("Hope"). In my somewhat challenged and possibly still-fevered state, I think it's pretty good, this lot of words what I've written. We learn what sort of woman Hope is, we learn more about Cocke and Bull's relationship, we learn some important stuff about Bull through a fabulous bit of backstory that is, yes, a flashback in present tense because I'm a rule-breaker and stuff, and we move the plot forward with the introduction of a certain Captain Penner (have I stolen that name from you too, Piedmont Writer?), of His Majesty the King's Grenadiers.

Wordcountometer: 16,736!

Next up, Chapter Eight, predictably enough titled His Majesty's Grenadiers. There will be some English grenadiers (oh, go look it up why don't you) and a surprising turn of events courtesy of Hope, and some commentary about Anglicans versus Catholics. Nobody was killed in Chapter Seven, and I don't think anyone will be killed in Chapter Eight. Huh. Things might be slowing down, though the tension seems to be ratcheting up. But I promise a couple of corpses in Chapter Ten, whenever I get there. Anyway, it's progress.


  1. I'm sure fevered delirium has fueled many a classic. As have mushrooms, but that's another genre.

  2. No, mine was Captain Richard Gaines in command of the 74 gun H.M.S. Bellerophon. However I will give you Mr. Claypoole Diggins if you want him.

  3. Do I remember somewhere you mentioned there might be dynamite.
    Could someone be blown up in Chapter 8 or 9? Maybe Mr. Claypoole Diggins.

  4. I'm pretty suspicious about fever writing. Hope you are feeling better, Scott!

  5. Feel better soon! And hurry up with those corpses already!

  6. Rick: Mushrooms and the like? That's the whole of Poe's catalogue, I'd think. And Lovecraft's, too. And I think a lot of King's early writing was fueled by booze. And once you open up the door to booze-fueled books, you open a floodgate. I was just reading an interview with Faulkner wherein he stated that he only needed paper, tobacco, ink and whiskey in order to write.

    Piedmont Writer: No dynamite, but I might take you up on Claypoole Diggins, as I have two characters to kill in upcoming chapters, so I might call them Claypoole and Diggins. They've already appeared in two previous chapters and have been referred to by their jobs, but I haven't given them names yet. Hmm...

    Davin: What's odd is that I have but the faintest memory of having written a chapter yesterday. I'll have to read it again before writing the next chapter, to see where I've left off.

    Erin: I took today off as well (spent most of it on the couch doing nothing at all). But corpses coming soon, promise! How often does one get to say that?