Haven’t missed a day yet, and managed to add another thousand words or so this morning. I’ve been taking the Fast Drafting course at the Writing Mastery Academy and Jessica Brody said something in the lecture I watched yesterday that made me think. She said most novels don’t get written because people are trying to write perfect first drafts. She said there are no perfect first drafts, not even good first drafts. First drafts are not where we write our perfect novels. They are where we discover our novels. Revision is where we make them good.
So, yes, I’ve gotten 16k words, and I will be the first to admit that the majority of them are crap, but they are words I can use later to make something good. In the words of James Thurber, “Don’t get it right, get it written.”
And we are, finally, about to meet the B story. Things should start getting interesting now.
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“Fine. You want to waste your time on that, be my guest.” He gave me a dismissive wave and picked up a file from his desk. As I had my hand on the doorknob, he added, “Take Ernie with you.”
I turned back to face Alistair. “Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d rather do this on my own. No point wasting the time of two officers, right? Plus, Ernie might rather not spend any significant amount of time with me right now.”
Alistair looked up at me again, stone faced. “Am I supposed to care about personal problems between you? Take Ernie, or don’t go at all. Your call.”
I nodded and stepped out of the captain’s office. Ernie wasn’t in yet, which gave me time to catch up on some loose ends. First, I called some contacts to find out who would be the best lawyer for the Harold Carter appeal, and after a few conversations, got the name of a stellar attorney. I called him, explained Carter’s situation, told him I would be covering all fees. I could almost hear him salivating at the idea of dealing with such a high profile case. He had agreed almost before I was done explaining. That was one thing I could stop worrying about now.
Ernie arrived and barely acknowledged my presence. He was obviously still upset with me over my accusation. I had to smooth things over somehow, but I wasn’t sure what to do. It had been a pretty big accusation. The best I could do was talk to him, if he would talk to me.
I stood up and headed to his desk. “Mind if I sit here?” I asked pointing to the steel chair that abutted his desk.
“Free country,” he replied, not looking up.
I sat down. An awkward silence grew between us as I tried to figure out what to say. Finally, I said the only thing I could think of saying. “I’m sorry.”
Ernie kept concentrating on his desk blotter and said nothing.
“Look, I know I was a jerk for asking if you had leaked the info to the press. And I have no excuse for it. I was on edge after reading the article, and I spoke out of turn.”
Ernie looked up at me with sadness in his eyes. “We’ve known each other for two years. Well, I guess technically, you’ve known me for two years. I still know next to nothing about you. But from what you know of me, do you think that’s something I’d be capable of?”
“No,” I answered immediately, and I meant it. Ernie was one of the good guys. I felt it almost immediately upon meeting him.
“Look, Leon, I know your type. I’ve met others like you. Closed in, untrusting, feeling like you have to take on the world on your own. I know how easy it is to get from that point to a paranoia where you believe everyone is out to get you.”
“Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you,” I quipped, and I saw the corners of Ernie’s mouth twitch upward a bit.
“I don’t know what your story is, because you don’t let anyone know, and that’s fine. I’m not the type to pry. But you should know by now, I’ve got your back.”
“I know. And I truly am sorry. I did let paranoia get the best of me for a moment. Won’t happen again.”
That got me a full smile from Ernie.
“Tell you what. Captain wants you to join me for a stakeout tonight. We can talk, and I might even tell you more about me then.”
“Sounds good. What are we staking out?”
“The Twin Palms. Want to see if our guy decides to revisit the motel.”
“Ooh, fun. I’ll bring snacks.”
Stakeouts are boring.
That first night, we sat in our unmarked car, across the street from the motel, and we waited.
True to his word, Ernie had brought enough food to feed the entire precinct, and he spent most of the night depleting those resources. In between snacks, he would make conversation.
“So,” he started one time, “you promised me you’d tell me more about yourself.”
“That I did. So ask away.”
Ernie frowned in thought. I imagined he was sifting through his many questions, trying to figure out which to ask first. “Okay, so you told me you just live with a cat now. What about before? Ever been married? Had a girlfriend?”
“I was married. A long time ago.”
“What happened? Did you guys get a divorce?”
“No. That would have never happened. We both loved each other dearly. She was murdered.”
“Oh. Wow. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.”
Silence fell between us as he absorbed that information. I thought back to Athanasia. There had been many beautiful women in Atlantis, but none so beautiful as my Athanasia. True, I may have been biased, but I stand by my statement. Long, flowing blonde hair that framed an alabaster complexion. Glittering green eyes that could look through you and into the deepest recesses of your soul. Full lips that tasted of strawberries. But, there was more to her than just that surface beauty. She was the kindest woman I had ever known. No matter what our personal situation, she was always ready to help our neighbors with food, with shelter, or with any other need.
And she was brilliant. The sciences were child’s play to her, and her mind was like flypaper. Once she heard something, it would never be forgotten. Women like her came along once in a lifetime, even a lifetime as long as mine.
“Got any kids?” Ernie asked, interrupting my reverie.
“A daughter. I lost her as well.”
“Holy–was she murdered too?”
“No. There was…a fire. I was away. She was with my brother. When I made it back home, there was no sign of survivors.”
“Wow. I’m beginning to understand now why you’re so closed off. That is terrible, man.”
“Yeah, even after all this time, it’s not easy to talk about.”
“I imagine it never gets easy.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Thank you for sharing that. Just know I’m here for you. Anything you need.”
I nodded. There had been something soothing about sharing that story, or as much as I could share without sounding insane, with someone else. It brought about a bit of catharsis, almost as if a small weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
“Hey, boys, interested in some fun?” A sultry voice wafted from my side of the car, followed by the sweet smell of jasmine mixed with lemon.