Ginger and her husband Dan collected me from the Spokane airport Thursday afternoon and brought me to their home in Chewelah, Washington. And no matter how it might appear to the casual observer, we’ve been working hard on our mystery novel ever since.
Sure, we go to a friend’s lakeside cabin every day to brainstorm and write and organize and edit. Sure, the bald eagles entertain us as swoop down and catch fish in the sparkling blue waters. Sure, we break for lunch and then take the paddle boat out for a spin before we go back to the salt mines and slave over the book.
But in between those moments, we slave away. I’ve spent three days rereading the 400 pages already written, checking for continuity and looking for passages to cut. Ginger is writing the final climax scene, which involves orchestrating the movements of a cast of pesky characters. By late afternoon, our brains are fried and we drive back to town for supper at Dan and Ginger’s house. But after supper, I grab a pencil and the manuscript and sit in the low-humidity, mosquito-free shade, and make more scribbles on the manuscript.
It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it. Despite the sacrifice required, Ginger and I will persevere until I leave Thursday afternoon. So don’t let the best tan I’ve had in years fool you. We are hard at work.
