Yes, it's Labor Day. Yes, I'm working. It's a sickness.
I've started the rewrite of Daddy's Little Girl. Thanks to the comments from the writers group I belong to I'm adding a lot in. At one time I posted a comment on Camille's blog about how horror needs to find that psychological crack in our personas and bore right in there without flinching, and then keep at it. I forgot that with DLG. I'm back to it. Damn that's hard.
One of the comments from the group that's driving most of what I'm putting in was that I had turned what was probably one of the most terrible things to happen to a parent into a sick extended joke. My response was, yeah, I probably went to the light side to keep the reader from throwing the magazine against a wall. Well, I'm driving at least closer to that later sentiment now. And it hurts to write some of this. The death of a child, a marriage, a persona. But in there is a good horror story. I hope to pull it off.
The story is going to be longer at the end of this. It has to be, I have to show more, make the narrator less "emotionally flat." That was the major criticism that almost everybody echoed. Word count when I started 1587. I'm at the only scene break (about one third of the way through) and I'm up to 1905. Three hundred plus words of pain and dispair.