Okay!

Need a new character?

Well, create one. Give him a trade, a living situation, a tragic event, rejection, and finally, the chance for love.

Chapter 14 came in at almost 7,000 words, on track to exceed 100,000 words in 20 chapters. But, maybe, I’ll just stop when I hit 100,000.

At this point, there is only one, maybe, two characters that are coming to the commune. Definitely one. Haven’t decided on the other.

Chapter 15 will deal with suicide and possibly a wedding (or, maybe it won’t, just depends on the suicide situation). Suicides a fun topic I’ve dealt with before and having been there myself, it’s always nice to reflect on the maybes. The last time came very close to being the last time, just couldn’t do it, though. No matter how down I get, just can’t get rid of those optimistic thoughts, which, so far, have kept me alive. But, there’s always that moment when the time is wrong and no matter how much you really don’t want to do it, you do, and don’t have to worry about it anymore. That’s the problem with jumping, it takes too long, you have those few moments to think, “Oh, shit! This is really going to hurt,” but it really doesn’t because the hurt is momentary and there’s no memory of it. The end is the end, no matter how you do it.

Chapter 16 will be probably deal with another wedding and an undisclosed possible tragedy that I’ve researched, but just have to work it into the story.

That leaves 17, 18, 19, and 20. As I see it there’s the possibility of another wedding, the one or two characters coming to the commune, and, and, and? There is the possibility of bringing that second character into the commune in Chapter 19 and then that will leave Chapter 20 as either a wrap up or an abrupt end.

There is always the possibility of bringing in children, they’re fun, and they could extend the story indefinitely.

Been a kid myself. Funny thing about growing up in a dysfunctional home, you just don’t know you’re in the shits. Well, after a while you know your family is different, but you just think it’s just a different kind of normal. Then later in adulthood you find out, no you were in the shits and had it rougher than most kids because your parents were crazier than you.

Now, having lived with my son for over four years (it’s five years since I last spoke to my wife, but that’s another story for another time), come to find out he was living in the shits, too. Of course, I was crazier than hell and didn’t know it. Then, come to find out, the wife was crazier than me and she still won’t admit it. Now, he’s got his own problems: four Prozac a day to control his anger, Gabapentin to relieve his anxiety, and Trazodone to help him sleep. Sheesh! I thought I was bad with a mood stabilizer, an antidepressant, and an antipsychotic, well, crazy is crazy, no matter how you spell it.

Life! Hard to live with sometimes, but fun to write about all the time.

Take a handful of characters, throw them into a mud puddle, stir them around, pick one up and throw it against a brick wall to see if it splatters or just falls to the ground landing in a limp pile. Pick up another, throw it into the air, and wait to see if it floats up there or falls flat on its face. Pick up two, squish them together and see if they scream. Watch out though, those two over there doing the Esther Williams backstroke; see them leaning over and kissing between a few strokes; are they boy-boy, boy-girl, or girl-girl, the choice is yours.