I had a very successful writing/editing weekend, in spite of the cold. I finished two chapters, which is more than I’ve done in weeks, and brought the story right around to the middle, to last third of the plot. This is very exciting for me, to say the least!

Unexpectedly, though, I also scared myself. It’s a strange sensation, having written something that actually creeps you out (not the first time it’s happened during this tale, but the most pronounced instance so far, I think). I’m currently rewriting the Sylvan DeLoire chapters in the book, taking a slightly different angle on his character and his purpose. And I exposed a side last night that is so much darker than I thought initially.

No, murder ought not be taken lightly. And (well, duh) it’s a dark, dangerous deal. In the original version, the murder happens only in a flashback, and that distance makes it less of consequence. Things get watered down in memory, what you recall can change and take new shape. Not to mention I don’t think I could ever call Sylvan DeLoire a reliable POV. But this take on the murder is so much closer, so much more ruthless. I don’t think I anticipated that. Funny how that works.

Still, as I brought the chapter to an end I couldn’t help but shiver a little. I’d lost myself in the situation completely, and standing back from it… well, it’s good to stand back, to put the light on, and take a sip of wine.

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