I have been sick the last few days. There seems a sort of poetic aspect to it all. You see, I’m also about to get laid off. I got sick right when I was hired, and now that the job is over, I’m sick again. Things are beginning as they ended; er, I meant ending as they began. Well, beginnings and endings seem to roll into each other. I’m starting to get my brain back; I’m able to stay awake for longer stretches. The fever has gone down, but I’m still exhausted.
I fear I’m rambling, but at this point there doesn’t seem to be much more I can do. I’ll write a sentence or two and then half fall asleep. I had a good idea for the opening of a detective story. I guess I’ll try to write it down and go back to bed:
So, there’s some mentor character, a retired police chief or something, who gets shot. In hospital, he requests a certain persona non grata to come to his bedside, someone once part of the police but now working privately, and sends everybody else out of the room. He knows who shot him and whatnot, but he needs the PI to handle things under the table to protect someone he loves.
I just think it would be a good dynamic. I haven’t figured out the details yet. Maybe I won’t. I generally have very bad luck trying to write detective stories. Alright, I’m coughing my head off and feeling as though the room is swaying back and forth upon the high seas. Time to go back to bed, I think.
Tale Told 