I read somewhere a while back that in writing a series, it is a good idea to take brief breaks from the books. This seemed like great advice because it’s a great way for the characters to remain fresh. It also gives the writer extra time to consider oncoming plotlines and how they relate to what has already been written.
So, as I decided to take a break between Books 2 and 3 of Everything Theory, I started thinking about a book that I almost started last year. I figured I’d open up the file and check out the few notes that I had.
That was last Thursday. Now I’m sitting at 16,400 words of a novel that I am actually enjoying the hell out of. Without the hindrances of the back stories and conspiracies spread through the Everything Theory books, this story is allowing me to run directly into the madness of what is becoming a heart-wrenching sort of ghost story.
He stood motionlessly, cup in hand, staring out across his yard. If someone had have been traveling down Foxtrot Road at that moment—perhaps on their way into town, headed for work—and looked into Richard Dansky’s front yard, they would have seen the distinct outline of a tall man. Even in the darkest hours of morning, a passerby would have noticed Richard’s rigid and expectant posture. Perhaps they would have noticed the way his chin was raised at an angle, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed. They would probably assume that Richard was waiting with an almost inspirational gait for the southern Virginia sunrise as he thought about some unnamed task the day would bring.
This observation would have only been partially correct.
Richard Dasnky was thinking hard about something. But it was not simply the familiar sounds of the country morning that he took in, but something hidden behind it, something that was carried on the air like an echo from a cave only he knew existed.
He heard something stir from behind him, from the other side of his open screen door. Something in his house had moved—a peculiar occurrence being that he lived alone. But things had been moving by themselves within his house a lot over the past few weeks. There had also been voices, groaning whispers that he couldn’t understand.
He knew who the voices belonged to. And despite not being able to make out any words within their garbled otherworldly voices, he knew what they wanted from him. In fact, he had been awaiting their request for quite some time.
