rivercrow

By the time I staggered home, I’d killed off several pints and a bottle of Delirium Nocturnum. I stopped drinking an hour or so before I left the Saucer. We’d spent our usual evening counting safety pins on skirts and…well, other things.

I launched an internet browser out of habit to check email. Doug had replied.

You know, it’s not bad. What does this thing look like, whatever it’s name is?

Er. Yeah. I knew I missed something. My usual obliviousness to individual, physical details partnered with my own clear vision of Lorida and her kind made for a major short-coming.

So, now I need to add a description. I didn’t really want to go back and rewrite the thing. What to do….

This is, I think, one of the reasons why I was drawn to playwrighting. The lack of physical descriptions. Unless there’s something important, you can leave out the physical descriptions and focus on the action, the actor, the language….

But, no, we’re doing fiction. And Doug wants physical descriptions, and he’s right.

I got up from the computer and poured myself a shot of Patron. I’ve always liked the way alcohol clings to the glass and leaves a viscous mark. After tipping the shotglass back and forth a few times, I swallowed the shot and returned to the computer.

“Okay, Dougie…. Let’s see if I can work this in smoothly….”

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