“Today the argument against sin and the means of losing it – the quest for the true spirit. This should be a good sharp section.”
– John Steinbeck, “Working Days,” Entry #4, June 2, 1938, Thursday
No giant moral arguments for me, at least not yet. Today’s work – tonight actually – is chapter 3. Jace at home after a long shift wherein an inmate has a problem in medical and we get foreshadowings of the underpinning of the book.
Chapter 3, then. Short, sharply delineated (I hope). She’s scared to sleep, scared of the dreams; leftovers from the psychological aftermath of Book One. Though the books are desert-set, this section should have the oppressive feel of the hot and humid, almost like being able to see the humidity hanging in the air. Should feel as oppressive as the Louisiana bayou. Hell, maybe I’ll just ask James Lee Burke to write it for me. Should have long sentences and long paragraphs, almost painful to read because of her fear of sleeping.
No Gramma and none of The Coots. This is all Jace. But short because I’ve already strung out the initiating murder too long. Too much navel-gazing already. But then, pacing never works for me until deep near the end. That’s the only time I can look back and see what’s what.
But like what became the middle part of “Grapes” chapter 4, this should be good and sharp. We’ll see.
And the quest for the true spirit? It may be corny, but there are no other quests. Everything dances to that particular rhumba.
