13,383...Noveling is Not for the Faint of Heart

Hi everyone and I apologize for my absence from the blogs. This week it has taken every single moment that I have just to stay caught up with my own writing. I hope to get caught up with your blogs tomorrow! I had an unexpected couple of days spent at the hospital (long story, but everyone seems to be okay), and work is busier than I am comfortable with. More than once this week I have thought about quitting but am happy to say I am still on pace to finish. Inspiration has been difficult to find, I can't move the storyline along (my characters are still sitting in Jackie's Diner), but I am very proud that I am still in the game.
Today I resorted to copying and pasting from Jackie's blog from last year, I think you'll agree it led to some exquisite results.

First... some insight into what is happening in the story:

“Alright, enough bullshit, Tom. Talk. What the hell is going on?” Tom opened his mouth, perhaps to explain, perhaps to evade the question yet again. Ryan would never know. Because at that moment, three men that Ryan had previously not noticed descended upon them. It was hard to see how he hadn’t noticed them before, they were rather distinctive looking. But then again, just about anything goes in the city of Las Vegas, and there were all types to be found on the strip. All three had wavy long hair past their shoulders, a style that had been popular for a period of time in the 70s, and experienced a brief resurgence in the early 90s. Two of the men had their hair half pulled back, a style that had never come in, let alone go out. They were wearing loud shirts and Bermuda shorts, and one or more of them were wearing equally loud vests over their graphic (possibly tie-dyed) tees.

“That’s a rather vague description, don’t you think?” Annie asked. Ryan thought the criticism was rather unfair.
“Well, I only saw them for a second before I was knocked unconscious.” He explained, somewhat huffily.
“You were knocked unconscious?” she asked, alarm creeping into her voice.
“Well, not really. But they definitely shoved me out of the way.” He said. Annie looked at Ryan, who easily stood 6’2” and had to weigh in over 200 lbs. Her look of skepticism needed no words.
“Look, there were 3 of them and I was surprised, okay?” he said, a note of petulance creeping into his voice. “Anyway… moving on. They didn’t say much, but when they did, they referred to each other as ‘dude!’ and kept saying ‘no way!’ I think they were surfers.” Ryan finished.
“What the hell are three surfers doing in the middle of a desert?” Annie asked.
“Well, as it turns out, they were kidnapping your brother.”

And then....


“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. Annie doubted that very much, but wasn’t in the mood to argue. “I thought the same thing at first.” Ryan went on to explain that although Tom’s behaviour had certainly been alarming leading up to the surfers’ approach, he had assumed, as Annie had, that Tom knew the surfers. At that point, Ryan felt more annoyed than worried. He had begun the trek back to Jackie’s Place, cursing himself for getting caught up in Tom’s bullshit. Again. This time had seemed different though, somehow.
“And I was right. Annie, Tom’s in real trouble this time.”
Right at that moment, Jackie returned with their food offerings. He smiled with grim cheer as he set down two steaming bowls of God only knew what.
“What is it?” Annie asked, afraid and yet excited to hear the answer.
“I present you with the ‘Razmatazz Local Food Organic Special’,” Jackie proclaimed, proudly.
“What the fuck, Jackie? This looks like shit.” Ryan said charmingly.
Jackie smiled shyly and explained.
“I have recently become enthralled with the local food movement as a solution to environmental degradation and am gradually changing over the entire menu to include dishes made from ingredients that were all harvested from within a 10-block radius.” Annie nodded approvingly. She was familiar with the local food movement, and approved heartily. Ryan was somewhat less enthusiastic, however. While he recognized that this definitely cut down on the environmental harm of transporting food, it did somewhat limit the cuisine. Also, he had seen firsthand the 10 block square radius of Jackie’s Place, and felt it was likely that they were about to be exposed to several communicable diseases. And he was right. As both Ryan and Annie were about to discover, the Razmatazz Local Food Organic Special consisted of a stew of water, dirt and leaves with a smack of ham. Basil, rosemary and thyme, grown in the Jackie’s Place window box, provided the spices. The source of communicable diseases was anybody’s guess.
They both thanked Jackie, watching as he retreated from the table into the kitchen, an extra skip in his step. Nothing made Jackie happier than spreading the local food movement message, except perhaps bedazzling. But that was another story for another time.
“Don’t eat that,” Ryan said. Annie didn’t need to be told twice, but she took a large swig from her cold, grimy coffee. It gave her the courage she needed for what was to come.