Monday, August 12, 2002
Yesterday went well enough. I'm a little uncertain, going into Chapter Thirteen, but that comes as no surprise. Endings aren't everything, unless you do them wrong, and then that's all that anyone sees. Which raises the stress level significantly during the composition of final chapters. Regardless, I did a respectable 1,277 words yesterday. I'm going to try to go for 2,000 words today, to give myself a little breathing room as the 26th approaches. But I doubt I'll get that much written. I'm finding the conclusion of this book an emotionally taxing thing for me, moreso than the ending of Threshold, which I found somehow uplifting. This book has been such a dark journey, from the very first day, the very first page, and the ending promises still greater darkness and more overt fantasy, though I do see a definite light at the end of the tunnel. There is hope for a couple of the characters, and I often feel that's the most you can fairly, honestly expect.
Changing the subject, an odd incident from Saturday night (well, technically Sunday morning), which I'd meant to include in yesterday's post, but then forgot. Probably, it would have been best if it had stayed forgotten. We were driving down Peachtree Street, on the way to Huey's, and I happened to notice that the car in front of us had two small video monitors located approximately where the sun visors would be. I thought it was kind of cool and pointed it out to Jennifer. A little farther up the road, we caught a red light and wound up sitting bumper to bumper with the car. I wasn't really paying much attention to the video monitors anymore, until Jennifer said, "My god, that's porn!" I looked and, sure enough, it was porn. I looked closer and I could see it was very badly filmed, even for porn. A black man and a white woman, having sex, while the camera zoomed in and out and occasionally panned about the room for no apparent reason. As I watched, somewhat stupified that people would drive down Peachtree Street watching porn, I noticed that the car's driver was a black man, and his passenger a white woman. And then it dawned on me — the couple in the car was the same couple in the video. Either they'd shot it themselves, or someone had done it for them, and now they were watching it together, in their car, where anyone pulling up behind them could also watch it. Maybe that was the point.
Parts of me just aren't ready for the future . . .
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