So…I sort of spaced yesterday. I wrote about 500 words, and I didn’t like any of them. I haven’t gotten rid of them, of course, but I just don’t feel comfortable sharing any of them. Now, I’m still aiming to write 1,100 words more today, but I have a few snippets I would like to share.
They don’t have a whole lot of context. I’m not writing my novel in the order that you will see it when it’s all put together.
The first one comes much later in the story than my previous blurb.
Late one night, as Harling faded in and out, he asked Mother the question we weren’t allowed to bring up. Ever.
“Mother, where’s Father? Why isn’t he here, caring for you? All of the other children have a Father. Why don’t we?”
Mother cried. Cried. Cried. Cried so hard the sobs heaved through her entire slight frame. I put my arm around her shoulder and just waited. Waiting.
…I’m sorry. She said. I’m not sure I know myself.
But…you deserve more than his absence. Mother wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, breathed deeply; in. out. in. out. In. Out.
The second one I honestly have no idea how it will feature into the story, or even if I wrote it in such a way that didn’t sound completely ridiculous. But it does provide important historical background that need to be in the story somewhere.
The principles of the rich would worsen, and those of the poor would blossom. Gather along and further their well being.
One wondered how the rich even got by with such a sparsity of knowledge, such a lack of care for life, both theirs and others. Yet somehow, they continued on.
Living on while the world around them crumbled. The damage inflicted long ago would crack the already shaky foundation on which their society lay.
Soon, the rock would fracture, laying bare the shriveled innards of a society to self-involved to notice the slow destruction settling neatly around the boundaries.