We’re down to the short strokes now. A few chapters to go in the Camp FUNdament book. I just handed off to Melanie in the middle of the big scene, giving her hero a chance to blow our version of organized cultish fundamentalism out of the water, or maybe to run away and leave my guy looking sheepish.
Just as an aside, does anyone know what the term ‘short strokes’ refers to? Sport? Art? Sex? Medical health? (That’s one cold ER doc commenting on grandma’s condition.)
At this stage in the story, I find myself plotting generously – recklessly even. In the first few chapters, I’m stingy, measuring every revelation with an eye dropper, careful not to give away too much. But by now - this is true of most of my books - I’m plotting with a garden hose. We have to get the bad guy offstage, so let’s have him indicted by the IRS. Or give him a secret life in Brazil under another name. Or plant a bomb in his private jet.
You think I’m exaggerating? I am, but not by much. The strokes may be short but we're thinking big.