Nuts & Bolts, and Notebook/Journals for WIP's

It's been a while, but I've been taking a little break from writing in this blog. I don't usually blog here unless I have something to talk about. Don't want you guys to get bored, don't you know?

Working on the next book, my WIP--Vampire Caprice--and I realized when I went back to my notes that I wrote the first draft last year about this time, and got it done in 3 months. I had a lot of researching to do, and had to remember what Colorado Springs area looked like, ordered a catelogue, and did some Google Earth searching on the area too.

My notes on this book helps me pull up where my head was, what I was trying to do at that time.

And creating all the characters, and having their individual stages (because in this book, I'm writing both first person, as well as third), and each one I allow the reader to see into his head, I had to come up with their "back story" and history. A couple of them have some distant history, too.

But hey, I was working along and thought I'd share a little excerpt from these notes. They sort of read like a running interior monologue, or journal, in some cases.

The following was written on 8/29/11

I need to be in Eddie's head for this. I haven't got him down as yet. It creeps me out, actually, to be inside his head. It has to be that he thinks the Albino is “The Devil” He's here, again. the Devil.

Eddie is working on a car. The Albino appears. Eddie says, “Oh. It's you.”

“Yes. It's me. Surprise!” he sang, hands out. “Oh, you're working on a classic.” The Albino walks around the car, looking admiringly inside. “Fifty-nine. Right?”

“Yep.” Eddie ducks back under the hood. He makes some adjustments. The wrench he holds falls, clangs to the cement floor of the garage. “Fuck!”

“Let me get that for you.” Albino moves Uber fast and he has the wrench in his hand. He spins it so fast that Eddie can't follow it with his eyes. In fact it looks like the propeller on an airplane going full spin. Albino moves to the side of the car.

“You know why I'm here?”

Eddie stares at him.

“I've found you another sweet one.” He says low. “She's exactly what you want. What you crave.”

Eddie licks his lips.

“Small, and sweet. Pigtails.”

Eddie wipes the back of his hand across his lips.

“I can take you to her.”

“I need wheels.”

“What's wrong with this one?”

“I can't get the sprocket to fit.” {not sure on this, but go with it for now.} I added this 8/29^th and have been working on it.

This is what it looks like in my "notes" and from this, you see, you add to it. Fill out the scene. It now reads very different as you can see here:

Eddie Roland reached down into the engine compartment of the baby blue, two door hardtop '59 Cadillac Coup de Ville. He wanted to finish this today. The man who'd sold it to him had lost his job and had needed the money. He had paid him a thousand for it. Cash. Hell, brand new it had probably cost over three thousand. It had leather upholstery, chrome grill, bumper and trim. Eddie had some money put away for extravagances like this. He got by with the odd jobs he could find fixing cars. But mostly he loved to work on the old classics, when they came his way. This was a honey of a ride. He considered himself one lucky son of a bitch that he had the cash to help the guy out. As if. He could now turn around and sell this for twice maybe three times he'd bought it off of Ted Roland, the man he'd bought it from. In fact he was lucky Ted hadn't put it up on eBay. Someone looking for just such a classic might have given him more. But Eddie had the cash, up front.

It had had a leaky head gasket—that was the big expense. But Eddie knew he could fix it up in a week and eventually get everything he put into it and more back. He had been able to pull the engine in his fully equipped garage and in two nights replaced the gasket and had it put back together. He was just finishing it up, in fact. He couldn't wait to hear the 390 cubics inch V8 turn over. The '59 Cadillac had the biggest tail fins of any car, and he knew when he went cruising down the street in the neighborhoods, he'd be the envy of all classic car enthusiasts.

“Hello, Eddie.” The voice was clear as the sound of a crescent wrench landing on cement. In fact it startled him so, that he did drop the socket wrench, and it went clattering down through the engine compartment, but not to the ground. It had stopped somewhere midway.

“What the fuck?” Eddie spun around, ready to rip into whoever the hell had snuck up on him and scared the living shit out of him. He realized quickly that this person was behind him, in the back of his garage, not the front. All the doors were closed, and the front garage door was down with only about six inches for air. How they had snuck in here defied all reason.

“It's been a long time, Eddie.”

In the over-head fluorescent lights, he saw a man in a trench coat standing there smiling at him. At first he thought he as a figment of his imagination. But he wasn't. He looked exactly the same as he had the first time he'd appeared to him at least twenty-five years ago. He was real, alright. The long white hair, very pale skin and blue sun-shades gave it away. He was The Albino. The guy had a name, but he couldn't remember it. He referred to him secretly as The Devil, because he made Eddie do things he knew he shouldn't do. It wasn't that he didn't want to do those things. The temptation was so overwhelming that he couldn't help himself. But The Albino not only gave him the notion to do those things, he encouraged, helped and abetted him. And Eddie was dead certain The Albino was why he was never caught. No one knew that Eddie had done the things he had done, except the Albino.

“Oh. It's you.” Eddie turned back to the car feigning disinterest, then looked over his shoulder at the man.

“Yes. It's me. Surprise!” he sang, hands out. “Oh, you're working on a classic!” The Albino strode up and then around the car gazing at it, running a gloved hand over the chrome and smooth-as-a-silk paint job. He bent and gazed admiringly inside. “'Fifty-nine. Right? Leather seats, chrome bumpers. You're doing pretty well for yourself, Eddie.”

“Yeah.” Eddie ducked back under the hood and located his wrench. The damned thing got lodged between the pitman arm and the steering box. Shit, he couldn't do that again in a million years! And it was well out of reach, from every angle he tried. He lowered himself to his hands and knees on the cement floor and reached for it. His middle finger was an inch away, and he couldn't reach any further under the car because basically his arm didn't bend that way. “Fuck!” he swore out of frustration.

“Let me get that for you.” The Albino disappeared from the spot he had been, and the next instant was standing right next to him with the wrench in his white-gloved hand. He spun it so fast over his fingers that Eddie couldn't follow it with his eyes. In fact it looked like the propeller on an airplane going full spin. 

© 2012 Lorelei Bell