Loathsome has some kinks, but I'm rolling up my sleeves and pushing my fingers into the mud. It's a helluva lot of fun right now. I just edited the first big attack from the Ruined Men. Good stuff.
I like this excerpt because it reveals a little about some of my characters (before the attack, they've just found a body on the beach with its throat torn out):
“Oh?” I pushed the brass gadget into my pocket. “We have what choice, Mr. Olson?”
Olson looked down the line at each man in succession. Captain Greig’s eyes were fastened to the water at his feet. John stood tall, the gun still dangling like a toy at his side. Jim held his rifle cradled at an angle across his chest; his eyes shot occasional daggers at Silas who stood a step behind me and to the left.
“Well, given this,” Olson waved to the black smoke rising from the burning body, “we can head pack to St. Helens. Tell them it’s not safe. We need more men. Different men. The Army.”
Silas stepped forward. “Listen, Mister Olson, it’s real easy for a fella to die out here. Mr. Nobody back there isn’t a sign of anythin’, let alone a reason to tuck tail and scramble back to yer mother.” He glanced at Jim next. “Even though I doubt a mountain lion’s gonna take after a full grown man like that.”
Olson’s eyes widened at Silas’s verbal onslaught, and he took a step back.
“What Mr. Kirchmier is saying, I believe, is that we have a job to do, and the river will not traverse itself. If we stand here and talk about it, we’ll loose the light before we make the first station.” I glanced skyward to emphasize my point. Silas relaxed his shoulders, and Olson nodded with resignation. Jim shook his head.
Too bad most of those guys will be dead by the end of the book.
NaNoWriMos...can you smell the finish line? (If so, what does a finish line smell like?)