ROW80 Writing Goals

Jane Brucker, 2011 reading at her Art Opening photograph by Caroline Gerardo copyright 2011

I have not checked in on ROW80. I have kept to my writing every day schedule .I threw out word count for now as I am reducing the novel from 151108 words to around 80000. I will have second revision done done done by July 4. I am going to Thriller Fest in New York on the following day. I am focusing on finding an agent who has passion and obsession for literary thrillers. My work is not a “pigeonhole able” single genre. I am writing thrillers, but they are literary and more general fiction than just financial thrillers.


I have settled on a title now that the narrative is set in stone.
The Lucky Boy.
What do you think? I had toyed with Lucky, but Alice Sebold has a novel/memoir (that I love by the way) of the same start word title. My novel is not the same.

Side note: One of my son’s first phrases was, “I’m a yucky boy.” By this he spoke with a slight lisp intending to express his joy and good fortune, upon which his sister and I would crack into shards of laughter. Now that he is fourteen, he uses it with a sarcasm that points out that being raised by two women has it’s downfalls.

Little Sycamore Canyon Trail Ridge June 2, 2011 photograph copyright Caroline Gerardo

I ask you to vote on one title: A Lucky Boy or The Lucky Boy.


Goals this week: Get Chapters 8-10 into clean speaking order by Saturday, exercise, love my children, and pray. No gardening, no dating (sorry Harvard guy), no time for frills. Focus on the finish line.

I will have the keen eye of the red tailed hawk that we nursed back to health. My eye is on the ribbon at the end of the race.

Portrait # 2 Caroline Gerardo

Reject portrait the runner up. Not the Booker Prize. #writing #amwriting #willhaveseconddraftrevisiondonejune15  Hey if anyone is going to Thriller Fest in NEW York email me. It is going to be fun.

Indie Ink Writing Challenge

I used the prompt to add a part of Chapter to a novel I am already writing. The emptiness and tedium of the sound of the word prompt was tempting. Ugh has both positive and negative uses
My subject matter is not G rated. If you are under the age of eighteen, I advise you do not to read as the fictional characters talk about drugs.
“Ugh.” is my prompt. 
***
   “Do you want to make some real money Seth?” Joe stands in a black jacket with padded shoulders.
   “Ugh?”
   “I have this buddy who pays for delivery. It is a drive to Miami. Tell your parents you are going on a school field trip or one of those fancy away swim competitions.”
   “My parents don’t care what I do, as long as I don’t talk to them.” Seth answers.
   “Being uninterested is better than a Mom who screams all the time.”
   “Mine just fight with each other.”
   “Can you leave tonight? “
   “No problem. What are we transporting? What is my cut?”
   “Hash. You can have a piece of the action.” Joe puts his palm down from his extended arm. The hand curves as in the statue of Poseidon. The gesture tells Seth not to ask.
   “How are we doing this?” Seth presses him.
   “ I know this guy who is a longshoreman at the docks. Some other people smuggle it into containers.”
   “Where?”
   “It is Broussard Port Everglades, South Florida, where the cruise and cargo ships come in. It is a long drive, one thousand two hundred miles. I can fill you in along the way.”
   Seth walks behind Joe his upper body strutting. Seth occupies more space than before.
   “When do we leave?”
   “Soon. Come on let’s go in here, I need something.” Joe puffs his jacket. He points to the door of a hardware store. “Let’s split up.”
   Seth sees a pair of steel-toed boots sitting on top of stacks of cardboard boxes. The leather is soggy red brown with a notched storm welt. They are size ten, “perfect.” Seth speaks quietly. He looks over his shoulder. Seth puts the boots under his jacket. He steps first with his left foot. Outside the glass double doors, he feels cooling air on his skin. He waits for Joe. His back leans on the unreinforced masonry. He admires the water resistance and electrical shock-proof boots by spitting on the soles. Seth Christens the pair for fortune.
   “Why did you lift those ugly shoes?” Joe startles Seth with a poke.
   “I ‘dunno, just seemed like a good idea at the time.”
   “Look what I got, a .32 short.” The gun still has a price tag on the revolver. Joe opens the barrel. He looks down the solid tunnel. “Didn’t get any ammo, the sales clerk was watching.”
   At 3:00 AM Joe shuts the car’s engine off. He coasts his Impala onto Seth’s driveway. He does not to disturb the family. The sky is indigo. The bitter air seeps into Joe’s bones. He shrugs. Seth walks in the new boots kicking from his hips, toes east and west. His collar is up to hide the cystic boil on the back of his neck. Seth did not have time to lance it with one of the stainless diabetes lances. In his pocket wrapped in sterile foil is a metal sword. The pointed piece of surgical steel encased in plastic is usually used to puncture the skin on one’s finger to take a blood sample. This lancet Seth will use to make a small incision, to drain the acne cyst later. He took a box from his father, the Doctor’s office.
   “I brought some Quaaludes for the trip.”
   “I have some speed and pot. That should do. All we need is some girls.”
   “What do we need girls for Joe?”
   “Entertainment. This is a boring drive. A chick might end your virginity.”
   “I’m no virgin.”
   “Right. Sing it.”
   “I know what you mean about uninteresting, my whole life is dull.”
   They head out on South 476 and on to I-95 south towards Baltimore. Seth watches the moon waning from his leather passenger seat. They are silent. Seth moves the electric window down. He lets his hair spin in the wind. At their first stop for gas, they spot three teen girls waiting outside. They are trying to score some alcohol.
   “Can you buy us some vodka?” The heavy set one asks.
   “I’m only seventeen, no I.D.” Joe’s lips part. He gives the fat girl his row of white teeth.
   She is charmed by the tall V shaped Joe. She giggles. She turns to her two friends. They reapply chap-stick and huddle towards him.
   “But I can get you some anyways.” Joe goes into the station. He takes the hand of the big boned teenager tenderly. He nabs a bottle of Popov, “you beautiful ladies ‘been partying last night?”
   She puts her big toe curled inward as a coryphée might circle behind, “yeah we are supposed to be at a religious camp for the weekend. We snuck out. We can’t find anything to do.”
   “Come on with us to Miami.”
   “Why are you going there?” She looks into Joe’s sapphire eyes.
   “Dropping sonny boy at college.” Joe lies.
   Some gasoline spills on Seth’s hands. He wipes his fingers in the rain on the passenger window. He swiftly pulls the aldehydes through his nostrils.  Seth opens the door for the plump girl to take shotgun.
***
copyright Caroline Gerardo May 15 2011
Indie Ink Writing Challenge