Just finished the first draft of a Sunspin story entitled "Permanent Fatal Errors", at 5,600 words. This one was a little harder than usual for me, though I wouldn't describe myself as blocked, exactly. Started it last week, got hung up on the 500-word stub I'd begun with, so I went and did other writerly things, then life got in the way for a couple of days. But now it's done, with about 2,100 new words today to wrap the draft.

A fun thing happened in "Permanent Fatal Errors", one of those nuggets of craft candy which makes writers so very happy. Early on, I'd put in a nearly throwaway bit of characterization regarding my protagonist. About 2/3 of the way through the story, the throwaway bit came back as important in a plot point. Then it turned out to be critical to the ending.

That sense of, "Oh, hey, I knew what I was doing all along, how about that?" is real spiffy writer cookie. I don't get it in every story, but when I do, it's fun. Kind of a buzz. And it renews my generally strong faith in Fred, my subconscious writing mind that makes most of the decisions and does almost all of the heavy lifting.

Since we're talking about a new draft, some WIP:

"That's it," said Paimei. Her fingers closed on his shoulder. "You're out the airlock, buddy."

"No," said Chillicothe. "Leave him alone."

Another rumble from Patrice, of agreement. Maduabuchi, in sudden, sweaty fear for his life, couldn't tell who the man was agreeing with.

The flechette pistol was back against his ear. "Why?"

"Because we like him. Because he's one of ours." Her voice grew very soft. "Because I said so."

Reluctantly, Paimei let him go. Maduabuchi got to his feet, shaking. He wanted to know, damn it, his curiosity burning with a fire he couldn't ever recall feeling in his nearly two centuries of life.