Next step: First Draft, which will be a complete going-over and tightening, editing for consistency, adding and subtracting (mainly subtracting, I anticipate) so that it'll be ready for a good going-over by the writing group here in town.
Speaking of which, yes, I got the chance to attend the Magic City Writers Group this past Wednesday (the 16th). It seems like a great group of people, committed to producing good fiction, and not afraid to give or take the nitpicks and critiques we all need to do so!
The ground was bad, here: Tiger Ape had been placed at the base of a hill or dune of some sort. Grasses extended from its rolling summit like spray from the crest of a wave. At the hill’s base Tiger Ape had some cover, but it was low ground, and not ultimately defensible, so Ambrose crept in a slanting path up the dune’s side, watching and listening, nose to the air.What was that muskiness?Ambrose poked Tiger Ape’s head above the crest of the hill, sheltering as much as he could within its crown of grass. He heard nothing but the slow keen of a desert wind. Oddly there was a bit more humidity up here, a smell of freshly-disturbed earth. No sign of movement, which made the hint of damp all the odder.He moved through the grass, over the crest of the hill, to a sandier area. He kept crouched, with his nose up, swiveling his head, trying to catch his quarry’s spoor somewhere, detect some trace—Something exploded in sand and hate, and half-tore Tiger Ape’s head off.
Until next time,
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