Wynderlon.com: the feverish writings of a feverish mind.

August 22, 2008:

Kali-Ma!

Ohmigod this week has just kicked my ass. Every time I go home I fall asleep on the sofa and end up taking an hour to two hour nap. Which means I take that much longer to properly fall asleep later. But, on the plus side, I broke 50,000 words with Morgan! Which means I’ve hit the halfway point in the story (I’ll update the word count bars later).

This is the first time I’ve successfully written 50k words outside of Nanowrimo month and I view this as a good sign. Could it be that I’m learning, growing, and becoming more of a successful writer?

One major thing I finally finished was the first, big reveal of the book: Morgan’s past. I don’t know if I like how the reveal came around, but that’s something that can be looked at during revision. Anyway, it wouldn’t be surprising that, since this is the first time Morgan’s truthfully talked about her past in years, that she begins having nightmares again. Here’s one that I’m not quite sure I like:

“Please kid, don’t look at me,” Morgan said, cocking her revolver. It was a simple Colt and it only had one bullet left, yet that bullet already had this young boy’s name on it. “I’m sorry, kid, I really am. You haven’t done anything, I know. Just close your eyes, okay? Just close your eyes.”

Morgan’s breath hitched in a sob and she blinked back tears as she watched the young boy hesitate and then close his eyes. He was a rather brave kid; no tears, no begging, just a solemn expression that, in a way, was worse to witness. The revolver was shaking and Morgan took a deep breath.

“Kid,” she said, “I know you’re gonna be sore over this, and I — well, all I can say is I’m sorry. Someone’s pulling my strings, too.”

Suddenly, the young boy opened his eyes and lunged at her, screaming in anger, tackling her and causing her to fall back onto the floor. The gun fell from her hand and the kid straddled her stomach. His face was a mask of animalistic anger; his lips were drawn back in a sneer and his eyes flashed as he pushed his fingers against her chest, right above her heart. While his hands were curled into claws, they pushed against the skin until she felt it dent inward. Morgan’s head fell back and she stared up at the dark ceiling as the young boy dug into her flesh with his fingers. She felt the pain, but instead of being something horrific, it was liberating — it was right. She should suffer. She heard the sound of her flesh ripping open under the boy’s fingers and felt hot blood pool and flow down her body. She gave a soft sigh, as if she had been holding a breath, and smiled.

While this dream sequence shows things I really wanted to show: the guilt, the perverse yet hidden desire Morgan has for a painful justice, and the mixing of what really happened and what was just a dream built on intense remorse. But, at the end what I really wanted to write was the kid saying, “Kali-ma! Kali-ma!” while digging his fingers into her chest, because come on, it was ripe for reference, even though I don’t agree in perpetuating the myth of a blood-thirsty, cannibalistic cult to Kali. And, hey, I’d already done a Mary Poppins and a Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious reference. Yet, in the end, I resisted sweet, sweet temptation.