14 | September | 2014 | Earful of Cider

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Some of you have been worried about the poor, misguided werewolf who tried to murder our hero with his teeth in the first few paragraphs of this story.

You’ll be happy to know that Turner has just dragged the poor guy away, perforated patellas and all, to wait for the police so that Tom can have a nice, relaxing phone conversation with his sister, Jackie.

Jackie, if you were wondering, is not a duck.

“Whoever sent this clown thought I’d be an easy target,” I said.

“Oops,” she said. “Is the clown still alive?”

“So far.” A couple of thumps and a muffled yell came from the next room. “Turner’s turning him over to Kyle now—one of the perks of a backalley view.”

“Fourth floor?”

“Fifth.”

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See? Nothing to worry about. In this universe, Bumbles bounce. Mostly.

Regardless, I’m absolutely tickled that some readers stopped seeing Tom as a victim and started seeing him as dangerous in his own right. I think Tom would be pleased, too; he’s worked hard for it.

Speaking of working hard, the world I’m building here is coming together enough that I was forced to tear the first two chapters into chunks this week, cobble ’em together with bailing wire and chewing gum, and retype everything to smooth over the scars, because I’m told that continuity is important.

I have some leftover bits that I’m saving for later, in a document cleverly titled “Bits”. They’re good snippets, but they don’t belong where I originally put them.

Does anyone else do rewrites, mid-WIP? Or do you just pause to flip back to chapter three and slap a post-it with “Fix because Norbert is now a turtle* starting p. 74“? Or maybe just forge ahead, teeth gritted, and plan to beat the continuity gremlins out in the second draft?

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*No, I’m not planning any wereturtles. I do, however, have this weird idea about what werebats would be like, which is why we don’t try to cure insomnia by watching National Geographic shows about urban bat colonies at 2am. Or maybe why we do . . .