Sometimes the night puts you in just the right state of mind with just a touch of hazy warmth hugging your thoughts, and you start playing around with your story and having fun and not caring how far your characters and plot and words stray. They are just going out to play, after all.
Here, I play around with an alternate somewhat melodramatic first scene of Sela Sunday and Bailey Lawrence together (who some of you will remember from Novel I workshop). I had fun packing and fluffing up my prose feathers and playing with word density.
The night closed in around the moon like a rush of worshipers falling to the healer’s feet, so much darkness bowing to the light. A beat that sounded like running and then gliding and then rolling in mud and then dropping suddenly to the heart-strings and falling like echoes down a deep well, pounded the wind, and moved through Sela’s whole body like a thousand ghosts. Sela walked home from The Quarter-Moon Belly-Flop Café where she worked until night was black felt and had to be pushed and struggled through, until her eyes adjusted and all the houses on the block appeared as squares that had been erased away. A shape emerged on the path, stamping through even the darkest of nights. It was Bailey Lawrence, the leader of the Tuxedo Crew. The slant of his lean a cool buffer against the beaming of his bright glare.
oh insomnia, goodnight. 🙂