I’ve gone ahead and sent “Death on the Moon” to the magazine editor.
Might be quite a while before I hear anything.
I’ve got some notes for other stories I was planning before I got involved with this one.
Maybe I’ll just mentally relax this weekend (physically I’ll be at work most of it) and not think about writing a couple days.
I finished the draft of “Death on the Moon” last night.
It ended up being 7500 words. Just kept growing and growing from my initial estimate. I remind myself that as my first story written with hopes of publication, I had no idea how many words it would take for X number of characters and Y amount of plot developments. Maybe I’ll have a better idea next time.
Had a handful of beta-readers of the first 2500-4500 words who all pointed out some possible weak spots, but all seemed to be looking forward to the rest of the story.
Sent off copies to a couple people I went to high school with to see what they think before I go ahead and actually submit the story. (I’m going to submit it, but possibly they might find some typos or simple errors or something that can be fixed before the end of October.)
So I am STILL not up to “the big showdown” scene in my story, but am creeping ever so close.
I think part of what is causing the slowdown is I haven’t been in a real physical altercation since I was in the 8th grade… back in 1983.
So I decided to try writing an action scene just for practice as a warm-up exercise.
Here’s what I came up with:
***
Phil stalked Hank through the forest.
Hank was a big, heavy guy, and Phil had little trouble following the trail of broken branches and muddy footprints.
Phil’s pistol was in his right hand, as he knew Hank had taken a gun with him when he had fled into the woods.
Phil slipped easily around trees and over fallen branches, barely making a sound as he closed on the racket of snapping branches and rustling leaves ahead.
The noises slowed, then came an end.
Maybe Hank’s out of breath, Phil thought. Maybe I can get a clear angle and get the drop on him.
Phil crept up to a broad tree about two feet thick, and listened. He heard a low gasping, as if someone was trying to catch their breath.
Phil peered around the tree, careful to keep as much of his body behind cover as possible.
Ahead, in a little clearing among the trees, stood a tall, bulky man with unkempt brown hair and a long bushy beard. The man held a shotgun in one hand, and had his other crossed over his heaving chest.
Phil snaked his gun-arm around the tree. “Drop it, Hank! I’ve got you covered!”
Hank’s head whipped all around as he jerked the shotgun to waist-level.
“Drop it!” Phil called again, “Then put your hands up.”
Hank’s head came to rest facing roughly Phil’s direction. “Okay. Okay. Don’t shoot.”
Hank tossed the shotgun off to one side, but he suddenly dove the other way behind a large fallen tree trunk.
Phil’s pistol barked as he put a bullet into the fallen tree. “Freeze! No more funny stuff, or you’ll get it for sure.”
Phil advanced into the clearing, moving towards the fallen shotgun while keeping his own gun trained on Hank’s position behind the tree trunk.
As Phil bent down to pick up the shotgun, a good-size rock flew up and out from behind the fallen tree in Phil’s direction.
“Whoa!” cried Phil as he dodged out of the way.
With an explosion of rustling leaves, Hank flew to his feet and leapt at Phil. Phil got off one shot, but missed and then the bear-like Hank was upon him.
***
Notice how even in practice, I STILL did not get to the actual fight?
Arrgh.
spencerhartwriting 