Actually my back is in knots, the only things in my stomach are Mountain Dew and Ricola cough drops, my hands are shaking, I’m not real sure what day of the week it is, and, once again, I’m utterly baffled by the knowledge that I have to write another short story over the course of the next ten days.
Right now all I’ve got is the top of someone’s head. It’s a guy, and I think he’s bowing his head or kneeling….no he’s bowing his head. And his hair is sort of sandy and dirty. Kind of like what you might imagine a peasant’s hair to be like assuming you ever decided to devote brain power to pondering a peasant’s hair. I think he’s sorry for something. Or he’s tired. Honestly. This will turn into a story. I mean, all I had before Second Choice was a guy at a wedding that I thought might be wearing glasses and that turned into 10,000 words. Good ones, too, if the reactions so far are any indication. Right now I’m just a little too out of it to be worried that with ten days left all I have is some dirty hair.
Onwards and Upwords.