I have concern. I’m afraid the climax of Wizards is going to come too soon. I’m afraid the first act, those first four hours, will be too short to be a book but if I add their second adventure it will be too long.
And I have to account for the fact that it will likely get longer in the second draft, because that is my way. The second draft is where I layer in levels of detail in location and thought process that I wasn’t sure enough about to include the first time. Where conversation or bare dialogue is wrapped with the emotional framing of the moment and I may, if you’re lucky, let you know what the room they’re standing in looks like, what the alcohol tastes like, heavy on their tongues. I might tell you that Gray has felt sticky and heard a faint ringing in his ears ever since they were in the bar; that Jamie is half here and half everywhere, nerves jangling with too much input, adrenaline spiking over and over because dear god, what was that?
And maybe, if I figure it out at some point I’ll lie a little less, let you in a little more on what Gray was doing in that bar in the first place, what he was running from.
And maybe it won’t matter if the climax in the action comes too early. Because this story isn’t about the explosions. It’s not about the chase, or the bad guys, about who wins or loses or what they lie to the cops about afterwards.
Maybe this time the climax of the story is one of them holding out their hand and the other taking it. Because risking trust is a greater danger than risking your life. And who you live for is more important than who you kill.
And while they lie to each other and to themselves, the seeds of all their truths have been lain around them, like breadcrumbs through space and fire and darkness. And someday they’ll be able to follow them back here, to this moment. When they changed their lives with a choice.
Oh god, I have to stop writing synopses, my brain is turning into the movie announcer voice.