I am just seven or eight thousand words away from the end of the first draft for my new novel. I have been exceedingly hush hush about it, saying only that it is a sequel to The Little Girl Waits. Hemingway warns against talking too much about a work in progress (WIP) because he says it kills the juice. If he’d been alive to see Fight Club, which I’m sure he’d have loved, he would have restated it: “The first rule of the work in progress is that you don’t talk about the work in progress.”
But today, I wrote a sentence, from the mind of my hapless protagonist, Pastor Butch Gregory, that I liked quite a bit, and wanted to share. I think it is safe, as I only have a few elements to add, a little denouement, and then I’ll let it cure on the digital desk drawer until the Monday after Thanksgiving.
He didn’t have time for symbolism, or for a discussion of deutero-canonical literature of questionable origin and historicity, because he was nearing asphyxiation.