Snails or “Thirty-Seven Gallons of Terror”

Swallowing hard, I caught the scream rising in my throat and replaced it with a terrified gasp.  From the vantage point on his green micro-fiber throne, Prince Luca opened one yellow eye and glared accusingly as I stepped backward.  Deciding I was in no real danger—and that my interruption of his sleep could be forgiven—he stretched and rolled onto his back before closing his eye again.

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The Price of Salt

Ten days after my twenty-fifth birthday—Thursday, July 18, 2009—I woke up early and headed to work as usual.  I expected it to be just another day in a string of extremely long summer days—I run the aquatics portion of our summer camp and typically my days are thirteen hours long at this time of year.  Being halfway through the season I was understandably exhausted.  I remember throwing my hands in the air sometime around noon and telling my boss I was preemptively taking the following day off.  I needed a break for my mental health.

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Passing Time

Perhaps my greatest frustration as a writer comes from the handling of passing time.  While things like dialogue come very naturally to me there is absolutely nothing natural about my handling of jumps from one period of time to another.  It is something that I truly loathe and as much as I work on a passage it never seems anything more than clumsy.  This is a problem I’m dealing with a lot in these early chapters of Metamorphosis.  Chapter Eight saw a bumbling transition from mid March to the end of April, and Chapter Nine took us all the way to Memorial Day weekend.  These were very necessary jumps forward but they were unpleasant to write, and even worse to revise.

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