I was blessed to have the editorial services of the awesome Justine Manzano, who was so kind and supportive with her feedback that I squeed and giggled for about a day.

In the end, not much has changed from my draft. Justine made some stylistic/grammatical changes, and honestly, I have what I think of as an idiosyncratic style, and if this wasn’t a 1000 word story I might have engaged more and asked about some the changes, like: Is this a stylistic change, and if so, can I get away with doing it this other way even if it’s not the way you would do it? But in this case, a.) It’s just WIM, and b.) idiosyncratic could also mean wrong, so, like, go with the editor with far more experience than you have!

There was one part where I allude to the Darvasi enhancements, and she wondered what that was all about and said I could expand, since my final can be any length I want it to be. My first draft had a made up backstory about it all, but it was like a throw a dart at the wall-type backstory and I’m not happy with it. So instead of expanding, I took the coward’s way out and deleted that sentence. That may not be the right choice, if the reader looks at it and wonders, “Well, what’s the deal with the Darvasi anyway? What’s the conflict? What’s the backstory?” But I thought it would be better than adding a jumble of words that haven’t been CP’d with a crappy backstory I’m not even sold on.

In the end, instead of adding words, I cut it. 979 words, including the title. I hope to revisit this in the future and maybe add an actual good backstory, and then maybe use it as a jumping-off point for a WIP.

Shining Palais on a Hill

Four months after the attack, parts of the Ivory Palais still smoldered blue.

The soft light of evening added an orange cast to the unearthly glow. Sarai passed the checkpoints, one, two, three. Coffee in hand, she traversed the threshold into the stately office of the leader of the world. 

“You wanted to see me, sir?” 

A year before, she had rolled that word in her mouth. “Sir.” Tongue forming over sibilant s, uvula worrying over rhotic r. Practiced over and over, so she didn’t stumble over the novelty of calling this man, of all people, “sir.”  Months after the Darvasi strafed the capital, their landmarks forever tarnished, this, this she could control. “Sir,” said strong and true. 

And today, she would stand strong as she betrayed her planet.

“I’ve approved the retaliatory attack against the Darvasi Syndicate,” the President said, eyebrows raising in anticipation of her response, which was indeed — 

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Sir,” she added belatedly. “It’s unethical.” She needed a better argument than that. If she could avoid doing what she planned by changing the President’s mind instead…

“People want results, Sarai,” he said, not even paying attention to her as he perused his evening feed, dashing hopes of persuasion. “Restitution. And they fear further attacks.” 

“People are idiots,” she said, trying again. “Sir. You do this, and you put New Terra in even more danger than before. The other planets are going to see this as crossing a red line. All for what? Revenge? We cross that Rubicon, and we’re all in danger. Morgan and Jack are in danger…”

Damn. She had crossed a line herself, mentioning the children, obvious in the set of the President’s jaw. He held up a hand. “I know the argument. But I asked you here because you’re the only one who can sell it to the lawyers,” he said. “I value your skills. You know that.” 

“That’s why you hired me, sir.” 

“Indeed.” His mouth quirked in a smile, eyes soft, and she couldn’t help the heat that sprung to her cheeks. “You’re the best in the business.”  Statement of fact. Didn’t even need a nod in response. 

Of course she could convince the lawyers. But she didn’t want to. To stoop to biowarfare, no matter the enemy, was against the ideals of New Terra.  She couldn’t let that happen.

Which form would her rebellion take? She hadn’t yet decided. Leaking the plan to the other human planets? Influencing like-minded scientists to tweak the formula just so?

Sending surreptitious warnings to the Darvasi?

Each subsequent option was more treasonous than the last. And each would wound New Terra, badly, unhealable like the bioluminescent glow still flaming on the Ivory Palace, but she would willingly break this planet she loved, in order to save it. 

The President cleared his throat. “Anyway, what are your updates?”

She paused before answering, hands clenching and unclenching in rhythm. “We’ve got the projections, sir,” she said, stomach roiling. “The virus would only affect the Darvasi who’ve chosen to illegally enhance their powers. No innocents.”

How could he endorse this? This wasn’t the man she knew. Loved. Integrity brightly burning, now a dull sheen.

No innocents. So what? New Terra, deploying pathogens. “We’re not indiscriminately harming, Sarai,” the President now said, looking at her with concern. “We’re trying to rectify a wrong.” He worked his lower lip and then grimaced.  “We’ve been keeping it from you, but that’s not fair, because it relates to your portfolio. The Syndicate tried to assassinate me a few days ago. We kept it under wraps. I didn’t tell our kids. I didn’t tell the First Lady. And…I didn’t tell you.”

Sarai stumbled as she sat, accidentally spilling coffee on her clothes. Assassination? 

The Darvasi had tried to kill the man sitting in front of her. This man, the president of New Terra, her ex-husband, the unrequited love of her life.

And he had put her in the same category as their children. Same as the First Lady. Someone he didn’t want to worry. 

Stop, Sarai. Don’t wish. Don’t hope. Stop breaking your ruined heart.

“You absolutely should have told me, sir,” she said instead, tart voice and all.  “Let me do my job.”

Her job. Sell the lawyers on something anathema to her. Could she do it? Instead of committing treason? Just follow orders, doing something she knew was wrong?

She was the best. That’s why she had been called to the seaside mansion a year ago by the President-Elect’s transition team, and been asked to join the administration as Planetary Security Advisor. Why instead of laughing in their faces, she had nodded sagely and inquired, delicately, about the optics of having her, of all people, on this man’s staff. It was worth it, the transition team said. She was the best. 

“Sir,” the secretary broke in over the console, “you have dinner with the First Lady in twenty minutes.” 

He took in a breath and nodded over the screen, and returned his eyes to Sarai. But she had seen it — she hated that she had seen it — that little grimace at the mention of his wife. A burning beacon.

Don’t hope. Don’t start.

She stood on a precipice. Each direction led to damnation. Betray New Terra, and him. Or destroy her soul. And his.

He could have been killed. The realization rocketed through her mind, an aggressive whisper, rustling her carefully-constructed cathedrals. Who cared about her wish? Who cared about her scruples? None of it mattered. He could have died. This man. The father of her children. 

She could do the work. Assist this horrendous retaliation. For New Terra. For…for him.

By all that was holy, she’d do anything for him.

She wiped her hands on her skirt, as if she could wash away the stain.

Hey y’all! Coming back with Draft 3. It isn’t much changed from my self-edited draft. I actually hope it changes a lot after the editor round next week. One of my CPs said a very true thing: this doesn’t feel like a short story and instead more like a scene from a novel. Which: fair. But I need help in changing that. Most of my self edit work from week 2 was trying to structure it more like a short story.

In doing some cosmetic changes, I saved a few words, so then I added back in the second part of the first sentence. In self-edits, I had been afraid the language was too flowery, but it does tie the story in better to the prompt. Then, adding those words, I was over again, so I went through the draft and cut unnecessary things. I get weird about perfection sometimes, so I’ve been proud to keep this at 1000 words exactly (minus the title. True perfection would include the title in the 1000 words)

Shining Palais on a Hill

Four months after the attack, parts of the Ivory Palais still smoldered blue, the soft light of the gloaming adding an orange cast to the unearthly glow.

Sarai passed the checkpoints, one, two, three. Coffee in hand, she traversed the threshold into the stately office of the leader of the world. 

“You wanted to see me, sir?” 

A year before, she had rolled that word in her mouth. “Sir.” Tongue forming over sibilant s, uvula worrying over rhotic r. Practiced over and over, so she didn’t stumble over the novelty of calling this man, of all people, “sir.”  Months after the Darvasi strafed the capital, their landmarks forever tarnished, this, this she could control. “Sir,” said strong and true. 

And today, she would stand strong as she betrayed her planet.

“I’ve approved the retaliatory attack against the Darvasi Syndicate,” the President said, eyebrows raising in anticipation of her response, which was indeed — 

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Sir,” she added belatedly. “It’s unethical.” Needed a better argument than that. If she could avoid doing what she planned by changing the President’s mind instead — 

“People want results, Sarai,” he said, not even paying attention to her as he perused his evening feed, dashing hopes of persuasion. “Restitution. And they fear further attacks.” 

“People are idiots,” she said, trying again. “Sir. You do this, and you put New Terra in even more danger than before. The other planets are going to see this as crossing a red line. All for what? Revenge? We cross that rubicon, and we’re all in danger. Morgan and Jack are in dang–”

Damn. She had crossed a line herself, mentioning the children, obvious in the set of the President’s jaw. He held up a hand. “I know the argument. But I asked you here because you’re the only one who can sell it to the lawyers,” he said. “I value your skills. You know that.” 

“That’s why you hired me, sir.” 

“Indeed.” His mouth quirked in a smile, eyes soft, and she couldn’t help the heat that sprung to her cheeks. “You’re the best in the business.”  Statement of fact. Didn’t even need a nod in response. 

Of course she could convince the lawyers. But she didn’t want to. To stoop to biowarfare, no matter the enemy, was against the ideals of New Terra.  She couldn’t let that happen.

Which form would her rebellion take? She hadn’t yet decided. Leaking the plan to the other human planets? Influencing like-minded scientists to tweak the formula justso?

Sending surreptitious warnings to the Darvasi?

Each subsequent option more treasonous than the last. And each would hurt New Terra, badly. Wound it, a deep gash, unhealable like the bioluminescent glow still flaming on the Ivory Palace. 

The President cleared his throat. “Anyway, what are your updates?”

She paused before answering, hands clenching and unclenching in rhythm. “We’ve got the projections, sir,” she said, stomach roiling. “The virus would only affect the Darvasi who’ve chosen to illegally enhance their powers. No innocents.”

How could he endorse this? This wasn’t the man she knew. Loved. Integrity brightly burning, now a dull sheen.

No innocents. So what? New Terra, deploying pathogens. Ripping away something integral to the Darvasi way of life. Her betrayal would cut New Terra just as deep as the Darvasi attack, but she would willingly break this planet she loved, in order to save it. 

“We’re not indiscriminately harming, Sarai,” the President now said, looking at her with concern. “We’re trying to rectify a wrong.” He worked his lower lip and then grimaced.  “We’ve been keeping it from you, but that’s not fair, because it relates to your portfolio. The Syndicate tried to assassinate me a few days ago. We kept it under wraps. I didn’t tell our kids. I didn’t tell the First Lady. And…I didn’t tell you.”

Sarai stumbled as she sat, accidentally spilling coffee on her clothes. Assassination? 

The Darvasi had tried to kill the man sitting in front of her. This man, the president of New Terra, her ex-husband, the unrequited love of her life.

And he had put her in the same category as their children. Same as the First Lady. Someone he didn’t want to worry. 

Stop, Sarai. Don’t wish. Don’t hope. Stop breaking your ruined heart.

“You absolutely should have told me, sir,” she said instead, tart voice and all.  “Let me do my job.”

Her job. Sell the lawyers on something anathema to her. Could she do it? Instead of committing treason? Just following orders, doing something she knew was wrong?

She was the best. That’s why she had been called to the seaside mansion a year ago by the President-Elect’s transition team, and been asked to join the administration as Planetary Security Advisor. Why instead of laughing in their faces, she had nodded sagely and inquired, delicately, about the optics of having her, of all people, on this man’s staff. It was worth it, the transition team said. She was the best. 

“Sir,” the secretary broke in over the console, “you have dinner with the First Lady in twenty minutes.” 

He took in a breath and nodded over the screen, and returned his eyes to Sarai. But she had seen it — she hated she had seen it — that little grimace at the mention of his wife. A burning beacon.

Don’t hope. Don’t start.

She stood on a precipice. Each direction led to damnation. Betray New Terra, and him. Or destroy her soul. And his.

He could have been killed. The realization rocketed through her mind, an aggressive whisper, rustling her carefully-constructed cathedrals. Who cared about her wish? Who cared about her scruples? None of it mattered. He could have died. This man. The father of her children. 

She could do the work. Assist this horrendous retaliation. For New Terra. For…for him.

(By all that was holy, she’d do anything for him.)

She wiped her hands on her skirt, as if she could wash away the stain.

I loved the character conflicts in my first draft, but it wasn’t a cohesive story, and it had waaay to much information. Very on-brand for me, really.

As I had never written a short story before, I had to do some research on the best components of one. I came across these categories (not very different than novel writing):

Internal conflict, external conflict, MC’s goal, try-and-fail cycle, rising action, turn, falling action, theme.

Ok. Internal conflict I had in spades (also on-brand). External conflict had come out while pantsing my first draft, but it was ill-defined. Needed to bring that out earlier. Needed a stronger goal, and more agency for my MC. Had rising action and probably some sort of falling action, but no real “turn.”

I wrung my hands a lot, not able to look past my draft and really “see” what I could do to change it, so instead of worrying about the above, I first went through and highlighted the parts of the draft I liked and deleted all the stuff I was meh about. Not surprisingly, all the meh was the worldbuilding. I had done that on the fly just to have a story, and wasn’t wedded to any of it.

So again, highlighting is what I liked. (Although to confuse things, the red highlights were 1. the mention of Darvasi; I wasn’t sure if I wanted to name them and 2. distancing language that would take the reader out of deep POV).

That helped. I wasn’t so wedded to this world I had created and could mess around a bit. I ended up keeping a lot of the surface stuff, in the end, without the backstory.

By that point, I was able to gin up an actual goal for my MC (ending the retaliatory attack against the Darvasi by any means necessary), a turn (realizing the President was in direct danger, beyond just a strafing of the capital) and falling action (a change of heart, no matter how dirty it made her feel). I also moved the details of the internal conflict (the fact she’s the ex-wife) later in the story. Both for a better reveal, but also to move paragraphs around so the “turn” happened closer to the middle of the story and not just a few lines before the end, which is how it was when I first did the edit.

I didn’t quite have a theme but as I started writing, it came out. About how the people and institutions you love can disappoint you. Like a leader, and a former lover, who had been a paragon of virtue but now was pushing for something unethical. A nation, a shining city on the hill, that would stoop to something that went against all it purportedly stood for. Because that was what happened when ideals met reality. And what is your response? Do you betray that person, and that nation? And is betrayal actually an act of love? And finally, what happens when your ideals meet reality. Do you bend, the same way your country bent? Do you justify it? Do you know you’re doing the wrong thing, but still feel the compulsion to do so? And if so, how do you find absolution?

A motif emerged as well. Illumination. Glowing. Shining. Beacons. Hope. Tarnishing. Dimming. Smoldering. Blazing.

Heavy, for a mere 1000 words.

———————————-

Shining Palais on a Hill

Four months after the attack, parts of the Ivory Palais still smoldered blue.

Sarai passed the checkpoints, one, two, three.  Past the secretary, past security standing tall, she traversed the threshold into the stately office of the leader of the world. 

“You wanted to see me, sir?” 

A year before, she had rolled that word in her mouth. “Sir.” Tongue forming over sibilant s, uvula worrying over rhotic r. Practiced over and over, so she didn’t stumble over the novelty of calling this man, of all people, “sir.”  Months after the Darvasi strafed the capital, their landmarks forever tarnished, the populace’s eyes dimmed, this, this she could control. “Sir,” said strong and true. 

And today, she would stand strong as she betrayed her planet.

“We’re moving forward with the retaliatory attack against the Darvasi Syndicate,” the President said, eyebrows raising in anticipation of her response, which was indeed — 

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Sir,” she added belatedly. “It’s unethical.” Needed a better argument than that. If she could avoid doing what she planned by changing the President’s mind instead — 

“People want results, Sarai,” he said, not even paying attention to her as he perused his evening feed, dashing hopes of persuasion. “Restitution. And they fear further attacks.” 

“People are idiots,” she said, trying again. “Sir. You do this, and you put New Terra in even more danger than before. The other planets are going to see this as crossing a red line. All for what? Revenge? We cross that rubicon, and we’re all in danger. Morgan and Jack are in dang–”

Damn. She had crossed a line herself, mentioning the children, obvious in the set of the President’s jaw. He held up a hand. “I know the argument. But I asked you here because you’re the only one who can sell it to the lawyers,” he said. “I value your skills. You know that.” 

“That’s what you hired me, sir.” 

“Indeed.” His mouth quirked up in a smile, eyes soft, and she couldn’t help the heat that sprung to her cheeks. “You’re the best in the business.”  Statement of fact. Didn’t even need a nod in response. 

Of course she could convince the lawyers. But she didn’t want to. To stoop to biowarfare, no matter the enemy, was against the ideals of New Terra.  She couldn’t let that happen.

Which form would her rebellion take? She hadn’t yet decided. Leaking the plan to the other human planets? Influencing like-minded scientists to tweak the formula justso?

Sending surreptitious warnings to the Darvasi?

Each subsequent option more treasonous than the last. And each would hurt New Terra, badly. Wound it, a deep gash, like the bioluminescent glow still flaming like a torch on the Ivory Palace. 

The President cleared his throat. “Anyway, what are your updates?”

She paused before answering, hands clenching and unclenching in rhythm. “We’ve got the projections, sir,” she said, stomach roiling. “The virus would only affect the Darvasi who’ve chosen to illegally enhance their powers. No innocents.”

How could he endorse this? This wasn’t the man she knew. Loved. Integrity brightly burning, now a dull sheen.

No innocents. So what? New Terra, deploying pathogens. Ripping away something integral to the Darvasi way of life. Her betrayal would cut New Terra just as deep as the Darvasi attack, but she would willingly break this planet she loved, in order to save it. 

“We’re not indiscriminately harming, Sarai,” the President now said, looking at her with concern. “We’re trying to rectify a wrong.” He worked his lower lip and then grimaced.  “We’ve been keeping it from you, but that’s not fair, because it relates to your portfolio. The Syndicate tried to assassinate me a few days ago. We kept it under wraps. I didn’t tell our kids. I didn’t tell the First Lady. And…I didn’t tell you.”

Sarai stumbled as she sat, accidentally spilling coffee on her clothes. Assassination? 

The Darvasi had tried to kill the man sitting in front of her. This man, the president of New Terra, her ex-husband, the unrequited love of her life.

And he had put her in the same category as their children. Same as the First Lady. Someone he didn’t want to worry. 

Stop, Sarai. Don’t wish. Don’t hope. Stop breaking your ruined heart.

“You absolutely should have told me, sir,” she said instead, tart voice and all.  “Let me do my job.”

Her job. Sell the lawyers on something anathema to her. Could she do it? Instead of committing treason? Just following orders, doing something she knew was wrong?

She was the best. That’s why she had been called to the seaside mansion a year ago by the President-Elect’s transition team, and been asked to join the administration as Planetary Security Advisor. Why instead of laughing in their faces, she had nodded sagely and inquired, delicately, about the optics of having her, of all people, on this man’s staff. It was worth it, the transition team said. She was the best. 

“Sir,” the secretary broke in over the console, “you have dinner with the First Lady in twenty minutes.” 

He took in a breath and nodded over the screen, and returned his eyes to Sarai. But she had seen it — she hated she had seen it — that little grimace at the mention of his wife. A burning beacon.

No, Sarai. Don’t wish. Don’t start.

She stood on a precipice. Each direction led to damnation. Betray New Terra, and him. Or destroy her soul. And his.

He could have been killed. The realization rocketed through her mind, an aggressive whisper, rustling her carefully-constructed cathedrals. Who cared about her wish? Who cared about her scruples? None of it mattered. He could have died. This man. The father of her children. 

She could do the work. Assist this horrendous retaliation. For New Terra. For… for him.

(By all that was holy, she’d do anything for him.)

She wiped her hands on her skirt, as if she could wash away the stain.

::deep breaths:: Ok, this is my first draft. I like the character and the imagery, but the problem is… As far as I know, this isn’t a short story yet. More like an excerpt. I tried to end it in such a way there was a resolution, but I think I spent too much time on the relationship and backstory… But that’s my favorite part! When I edit, I’ll try to see a.) How to make it fit a short story outline and b.) Make sure the theme(whatever the theme is) is present throughout.

So here it is!

Four months after the attack, parts of the Ivory Palace still smoldered blue, the soft light of the gloaming adding an orange cast to the unearthly glow.

Sarai passed the checkpoints, one, two, three, the chip in her badge automatically letting her through into this, the most secure building on the planet.  Past the secretary, past security standing tall, she crossed the threshold into the stately office of the leader of the world. 

“You wanted to see me, sir?” she asked. 

A year before, she had rolled that word in her mouth. “Sir.” Tongue forming over the sibilant s, uvula worrying over the rhotic r. Practiced over and over, so she didn’t stumble over the novelty of it and instead mumble something indistinct like sherm.  Months after the Darvasi strafed the capital, panic still roiled, bags drooped under the politicians’ eyes, but this, this she could control. “Sir,” said strong and true to her ex-husband, the unrequited love of her life, the President of New Terra. 

“The Joint Staff is pushing for a retaliatory attack against the planets of Southern Gate,” the President said now, eyebrows raising in anticipation of her response, which was indeed — 

“Are they out of their fucking minds? Sir,” she added belatedly. “The attackers were transstate actors. It’s not the fault of the planets they were based on.” 

“People want results, Sarai. Restitution. And they fear further attacks.” 

“People are idiots. Sir. You do this, and you put the New Terra in even more danger than before. What about sleeper agents for the most notorious Southern Gate planets, who would see this as crossing a red line? All for what? Bombing the shit out of places that don’t actually control the Darvasi? We cross that rubicon, and we’re all in danger. Morgan and Jack are in dang–”

She had crossed a line. She could see it in the set of the President’s jaw. He held up a hand. “I know the argument. But I brought you in here so you could provide a response to the Joint Chiefs’ demands. A measured response,” he said, as her mouth began to move. “I value your judgement. You know that.” 

“That’s what you hired me, sir.” 

“Indeed.” His mouth quirked up in a smile, eyes soft, and she couldn’t help the heat that sprung to her cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, we plan to take the fight to the Darvasi themselves, too. You ready for that meeting today?”

She took a minute before answering, her hands clenching and unclenching in rhythm. “We’ve got the projections, sir,” she said, stomach roiling. “The virus would only affect the Darvasi who’ve chosen to illegally enhance their powers, and even then, would just affect their implants so they’d have to take them out. No long term damage, no death, no affecting innocents.”

“So you’ll be able to sell it to the lawyers,” he said. Statement of fact. Didn’t even need a nod in response. Just one lifted brow. 

Of course she could convince the lawyers. Collate and synthesize information, make it palatable to an audience without dumbing it down, and bring them around to her point of view. Her forte.

She was the best. She knew it. Everyone knew it. That’s why she had been called to the little mansion out in the Alfagi Coast a year ago by the President-Elect’s transition team, and been asked to join on as Planetary Security Advisor. Why instead of laughing in their faces, she had nodded sagely and asked, delicately, about the optics of having an ex-wife on staff. An ex-wife who shared his last name. An ex-wife, an ex-senator’s wife, who had unceremoniously and very publicly cheated on him ten years before. It was worth it, they said. She was the best. 

“Sir,” the secretary broke in  over the console, “the First Lady wanted to remind you about dinner in twenty minutes.” 

He took in a breath and nodded over the screen, and returned his eyes to Sarai. But she had seen it — she hated that she had seen it — that little grimace at the mention of his wife. Nope. No no no no, Sarai. Besides, there were more important things afoot. 

Like the fact New Terra was about to engage in bio warfare. 

The Darvasi were overpowered magic users. Everyone had a little magic in them. Sarai, for example, could shoot little sparks out of her hand, useful while camping or during a blackout, but not for much else. The Darvasi used illegal alien tech to enhance theirs. Twist it, into something dark and hateful. They claimed they just wanted the freedom to live their lives. Many of the other human planets shrugged, or looked the other way. New Terra, though…

“You know we’re not weaponizing something dangerous, right, Sarai?” the president now asked, looking at her with concern. “We’re trying to rectify a wrong.” He worked his lower lip and then smiled, holding up his commtab. ” Oh, and Morgan wanted your help with her history homework. About the Exodus. Said since we were old we’d know all about it.”

Sarai laughed in spite of herself. Their grandparents were babies when Earth was dying, when the aliens had come to corrupt their populace with tech that would later consume them, enslave them, leeching from Earth’s lifeforce to do so. Her ancestors had thought all was lost. 

Then one day, the gates appeared. And the tech didn’t work in space. And as humanity took to the stars, they broke their shackles. Freedom. 

New Terra was the vanguard. And now New Terra had to protect the rest of humanity against the sins of their past. Stooping to this type of violence though — pathogens. Ripping away something that had come integral to the way the Darvasi lived. It was necessary. Didn’t make it right.

But Sarai could button herself up and sell it anyway. For humanity. For… for him.

After all, she was the best.

I was so excited to be selected for one of the #WIM editor slots this season. If you aren’t familiar with Writer in Motion, check it out here https://writerinmotion.com/2020/08/01/writer-in-motion-kickoff-the-prompt/

(I would go into more detail, but I’m posting this from my phone in the passenger seat of a car on a road trip sooo)

I am a character-first writer, which doesn’t discount how much weight I put on plot. It just means I usually think up a character– or sometimes an emotional catalyst– and then build a plot around that person and situation. So for WIM, I already knew it would be hard for me to create something out of the prompt whole cloth. Luckily, I always have a stable of archetypes and situations I want to explore.

So I see this plot — this bucolic, pastoral scene– and I fixate on that building. In my messed-up mind, that cottage is glowing, burning, bioluminescent. Ok. Perfect. I had wanted to write about Sarai forever. Sarai works directly for a global leader — and they have a personal connection, which you will be able to see in the story.

So, the image got me thinking of a glowing building where Sarai goes to work. So my mind goes to:

After all these months, the White House still glowed blue.

(yes, blue is where my mind went, not orange.)

I have the whole thing written, but I’ll save it for a week 1 post.