A longer excerpt today - 15,715 words

In comments, Jackie was wondering what my plot is. Well, it's sort of hard to explain, love-triangley and with weird manipulative people doing dastardly things. I don't know why they are doing them.

In the case of Kiefer, it's because he's a self-centered douchebag. At this moment in my novel, he's decided that he must seduce Nicky, and so he sent her the letter that I am including as my excerpt for the day. I'm feeling a little nervous because I'm not sure how to draw out the plot for much longer... except I've got an idea of a few crazy things that are going to happen sort of because of this weird seduction plot, sort of peripheral to it, that will shock the novel into becoming a very different sort of thing. We'll see. I don't want to say too much, am still figuring out how it's going to happen.

1,500 words a day seems slow... there's not much time for anything at all to happen. Here's a large part of today's writing, just to give you a longer-than-usual excerpt. I hope you enjoy it.

Letter 46. July 15, 198x
The Other Big City

Dear Nicky,

You might have noticed by now that I’m not in The Big City anymore. I have moved back to my old haunts, the places where I used to be happy and that seem so empty now. You probably have no idea why I’ve left; it’s been so long since you’ve even met my gaze, so how could you know?

If you would have looked my way, you would have noticed that I’m not the same man you once knew. I no longer roll through doorways just in case there are gunmen on the other side. I no longer bark out commands to all those around me. I can’t bear to wear tight jeans anymore and I don’t even enjoy getting drunk and taking my pants off in public. Even my eye color has faded to a dull, monotonous grey.

You were my muse.

I understand – at least, I try to understand. It’s a huge responsibility, and not one that you chose, but rather, one that fell from the sky and landed delicately on your shapely shoulders. I can cognitively comprehend why you might remove that responsibility as if it were last year’s fashion and try to pawn it off on a less fabulous friend. My writing career probably means less than nothing to you. Less than zero. And I would rather die – believe me, I have never been accused of exaggeration – than to have you submit to the weight of responsibility that you so clearly consider a burden.

After months of living in the same building, desperately clinging to your scent as it lingered in the stairwell or by the mailboxes, hearing your trilling laughter in the hallway, listening to your tasteful yet avant garde music choices as I reclined on my fire escape staring at the darkening moon, I had to go. I was a ghost of myself, almost subhuman, such was the depth of my longing and my need. A longing and a need that I made no attempt to hide, and yet that was still invisible to you.

Darling Nicky, it is clear to me that I don’t exist for you. My only hope is that now that I have removed myself from your surroundings, that you might condescend to send me some of your news now and again. If I have to content myself with the photo album I made of snapshots taken as you ran errands in public places and at events at Jackie’s Place, never to hear your voice again, can you please pity me and send me a brief note, now and then? It doesn’t have to be personal or intimate; I know better than to expect that. You can write to me about whatever you wish – you can write nonsense words – so long as you are writing in your own dear sweet handwriting, paper that you have touched, stamps you have licked! I dare not ask that you seal with a kiss, darling. I would never ask that of you, knowing as I do how little you value my existence here on earth.

I have left The Big City because I could not bear the city while you were in it and yet not mine. Will you please share some of yourself with me now that I’m not there, day to day, now that we shall never cross paths? Now that there’s no chance that my insignificant miserable life will bother you unawares?

To make the first letter that much easier for you, I have enclosed some blank paper, and a stamped addressed envelope. Please pity your starving artist friend, who wants nothing in the world but a few words written by your own precious hand, heart and mind.

Everything I am is yours,

Kiefer