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I’m still typing up my nanoduck, which is slower going than I’d anticipated. This is partially the fault of work, which has uncharacteristically knocked the stuffing out of me this week, and partially Other Priority Projects.
So I’m not trying to do much editing as I go; the point is to get it all into the same format so I can print it out and have a literal cut-and-paste (or staple) party. But since I know where the story is going, there are a few things I’ve corrected as I fly past with the speed and grace of Zippy the Safety Snail and some things I’ve actually saved in a special document like the word hoarder I am cut, including a couple of minor characters who don’t do much but give Tom a reason to dump info.
But Eddie, the valet at the snobbish and very expensive Poisson d’Or, is a keeper. I think he adds a little larcenous patina to Tom’s untold backstory and also does our hero a couple of small solids that are keeping me from testing the readers’ suspension of disbelief regarding coincidences.
I like that in a secondary character.
Eddie may or may not be a Were—he hasn’t mentioned it yet. If he is, I’m guessing he’s probably something ferret-ish?
“Tomás!” the valet said. “Got a client, or did you hit the Lotto?”
“Hey, Eddie, what’s the scam?”
“Day job,” he said, with a shrug. “Gotta be somewhere, might as well make a buck.”
That probably meant he was casing the Poisson’s clientele and vehicles for future plans of a less than legal nature, but I let it slide. “Make sure no one takes the dents out of my fender or boosts the hubcap,” I said.
“Be a shame,” he said, gravely.
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Tom is driving my car, by the way, though I’ve managed to keep both fenders and all the hubcaps. Because rust is sort of Nature’s solder, isn’t it?
Earful of Cider 