In the second draft after Apocalypse

No writing will be done tonight, I fear, with RecJam taking up all of my evening. I will be so glad when this story is complete--for every word that remains from the first draft, another must be replaced. At least, that's the ratio I believe I'm running in regards to what stays and what is replaced. And the story isn't all that different--the plot's the same, just perhaps three steps to the side of what I'd originally written. Of course, those steps make a great deal of difference in the final quality (at least I hope so).

This following passage is a prime example of what I'm doing. Maybe 70 percent of the words carry over from the original, but I restructured the sequence, clarifying it more in the context of the story, tweaking the point of view some.

A surge of alien imagery overwhelmed Jönis. Nothing visual, but sounds, smells, touch. The most intense feelings of touch he'd ever experienced. He could actually feel the miniscule grains of sand shifting along the seafloor as he glided through the chill ocean, meters above.

Everything shifted, and Jönis abruptly found himself in shallow waters, another We/Young... swallowing him. He felt no fear as the We/Young enveloped him completely. Rather, overwhelming contentment took hold. His thoughts and feelings intermingled with the other We/Young, bled together.

A soothing, thrumming shell encased them. Whorled, patterend, intricately layered. The We/Old took root in the shell, sang to him then in his own voice. The We/Old spoke soothing words. It reflected Jönis' thoughts as his mind fragmented, divided a thousandfold. Comfort. Memory. The We/Old kept him sane, kept him safe and happy as the coldcoldcold came. Beyond the shell, the ocean stopped flowing. But that was as it always was.

With all the effort I'm putting into "Apocalypse," the damn thing had better sell!

Now Playing: Genesis Invisible Touch