January 30, 2026
I devoted an hour or so last night to working on this story,
but I was still unsure about how to progress. I had an idea for the next scene,
but I didn’t have the entry part.
I still didn’t have the flesh of characters developed nor a
notion of the upcoming conflict to delve into it.
So, I decided to backtrack into the sections already written
and look for places that could be expanded, hoping to find more footholds for
my story.
It turned quickly into a productive night where each of my
characters started taking more shape.
Here are a couple of the additions:
In the first section, I mention that Peter had a successful first
book “Carnival of Screams.” I didn’t have much more detail than that, but I
liked that it established that Peter was horror genre writer. Near the end of
the section, I have a list of questions bouncing around Peter’s head placed by
his agent. One included the latest numbers on his first book. So, I thought I’d
shed a bit more light on that.
He barely remembered writing “Carnival of Screams,” the
words appeared on his screen like it was a fever dream. As a story, it was a
pretty predictable slasher plot, but the character Cleet Tate elevated every
word. His stunted vocabulary. His hobbled gait. Those eyes. Green. So green
Peter sometimes dreamed about them, just like his readers. He had a stack of
letters from fans who had nightmares where a pair of green eyes followed them
through a poorly lit carnival midway. The only sound an occasional smack of a
hammer banging on the metal of ride frames.
Maybe Peter should fill out some character sheets. Maybe find one that interested him and go from there, worry about story later. He worried though that would just lead to a bastardized version of Cleet Tate. The character that birthed his career and so far, he couldn’t top.
Another part from the section from the point of Peter’s son
Cal, I had hinted that Cal’s vocabulary and reading skills were years ahead of
his peers. I decide to build on that thought in these couple paragraphs.
“Hypocrites.” He’d learned the word in September, part of
Dad’s vocabulary builder lists. Maybe Cal couldn’t do math, but he read at a
sophomore level. His spelling and handwriting were impeccable. Impeccable had
been a vocab word at least a year ago. Hell, he could rattle off grammatically
correct sentences in English in that his peers couldn’t even fathom. Fathom,
that was from last week. Yet, his Mom was worried about math and science. What
was she, the government?
Well, he liked science, but Mr. Suman hated him. Cal
didn’t know why, but Cal could feel it anytime the teacher called his name in
class. Elongating the vowel just so, every, single, time. “Caaaal Modjeski.” If
Cal answered correctly, Mr. Suman… guffawed (from last March’s vocabulary
builder), noticeably. As if a correct answer from Cal was just as likely as hitting
the right numbers on the lotto. If Cal’s answer was wrong, Mr. Suman sneered,
obviously content all was regular, normal, and as it should be in the world.
The sun came up in the east, set in the west, and Caaal Modjeski still didn’t
know bupkis about science. There were words that Cal could use to describe Mr.
Suman, but they didn’t appear in Dad’s vocabulary builder lists (although some
of the words Cal could use did appear in Dad’s book. Cal had read half of
“Carnival of Screams” last summer. Halfway was as far as Cal could get through
the book, and he didn’t stop because it was overly scary).
Cal was stretched on his bed with the lights out even
though he had another hour before his bedtime. His hands were behind his head,
the fingers laced together, his eyes focused on the dimpled texture of his
ceiling that he could see where the street lights shone through his window.
He often watched his ceiling, imagining it was the dimpled
surface of some distant planet. The surface was stark, devoid of things like
trees and grass. Rather, it was covered with rocky crags and cracked hardpan
soil. A real hellscape, Cal imagined. One where the worst kinds of things could
happen, but there was some hope.
