Today is one of those days. The kind where work sucks something major, I can't get into my MC's brain (I've even offered him money), and I'm hating everything I've written thus far. All ... 17k'ish words of it. Well, maybe not ALL of it, but you get what I'm saying. (Right? Or is it just me that goes through the rough patches with my significant other?) So before I do an injustice to my lovely characters, I'm peacing out. Don't want to say or do anything that I'll regret later.
To heck with my 1k goal for the day (okay, so this part is still killing me, but I'm letting it go ...). I'm settling for about 100.
But ... in the spirit of Devo, here's about 200. (small intro: My MC violated his probation and is getting sent to a school for at risk kids. He's in the car with his social worker right now.)
“Buck up, kid,” Tony tells me in the car. “It could’ve been a lot worse.”
For the past five miles, I’ve stared out the side window, my headphones on but no music playing. I forgot to charge the battery.
I move my lips to imaginary lyrics, but Tony isn’t deterred.
“Seriously, Drew, what’s this make … seven, maybe eight, VOPs? You’re lucky the judge didn’t send you to the big house.”
The big house = the local jail. I spent the last twenty-one days in the juvenile center, which, compared to the alternative, is a slice of apple pie.
“You knew this was the last straw. I don’t know why you couldn’t …” Tony pauses and sighs. “Your new school is out of county, so I won’t be able to check on you as much. If there’s any trouble, I’ll get another worker assigned to you. I hear they’re not as easygoing in Bristol, so will you at least try to behave?”
A thin mist settles onto the front windshield of Tony’s silver Jetta. He flips his wipers onto low, turns up the radio, and taps his fingers against the steering wheel.
We spend the next three hours in silence, Tony waiting for an answer that never comes.
Happy Wednesday to all, and to all a good night!