I've been pondering new projects, partly because I will soon finish the first draft of The Last Captain, and partly because I will soon finish the first draft of The Last Captain.
"What's that?" you say.
Simply put: my mind, like that of most people, prefers to shy from hard thought and go with what's easy, shiny, and new. Writing openings is easy. Tying it all together for a coherent ending is fucking hard.
At any rate, I gave into the whispers in my head this morning, and wrote this little bit of dialogue, for a piece I am tentatively calling Confessions of a Necromancer:
“Not everything you see before you always was,” Ebenezer confided to me the first time he had me strapped to his table.
Being gagged as well as bound, I couldn’t very well reply.
As a natural byproduct of being constantly surrounded by the mindless dead, he had the ability to carry on a conversation without a partner. So it was that my silence didn't deter him from speaking at all, “You see, once I was a golden boy like you, walking in the light of the gods and basking in the adoration of women fair and foul.”
I shook my head, more in fear of the bonesaw he’d picked up in one delicate, bone-white hand than denial of his unlikely tale.
Hopefully writing their mutterings out will allow me to get on with The Last Captain