Walking the grounds of the Pen alone—she’d asked Fin not to join her—gave her time between his bed and her own to gather perspective, let the world back in. The real world, and not the one she’d spent the last few hours in. But in those hours between one day and the next, perspective bent in fantastic ways, showed her is and might be were not entirely different things. Cecibel hummed, matching her tune to the see-see-saw of crickets and her step with moonlight patches wending through the leaves. It was no longer today, and not yet tomorrow. It was now and, for once, she was content.
I love this story. It’s sad and joyful, whimsical and grounded in harsh reality. (And currently at 67K words!) I write every day from 10:30-4:00. That seems to be how long I can go–with small breaks like this one in between–before my brain tells me, “enough.” But within an hour after closing the computer, my brain sings a different tune. “Oh! This will be perfect.” “Add that.” “Don’t forget about…” And in the night, when I wake, it’s usually from dreams of this story occupying so much of my thought.
I won’t go into the more nefarious implications of my obsession. They’re obvious enough to those who read this space. A mind occupied by joy has less time to sorrow. ‘Nough said.
Funny little side note: There’s a reason for the title, one the reader won’t come upon until the very last bit of the book. It works, trust me. When I came up with the title, the name “Traegar” stuck and wouldn’t unstick. I knew I’d heard it before, but couldn’t place it–until I started watching every season of Parks And Recreation on Netflix and realized it was one of the main character’s names. The Rob Lowe character, for those who know the show–Chris Traeger. I looked up the name to see what ethnic origin it had, and what came up was a whole lot of stuff about heavy-duty-serious BBQ grills. If you are indeed familiar with the show, you know that Chris Traeger is a vegetarian and would stick his own hand in a smoothie blender before eating anything with so many carcinogenic properties. A sly little wink, for those who got it. I thought it was really clever.
Modesty Is For Suckers 