The Stash passes the morning after test. In other words, the story reads as it did when I finished writing.

Made a few quick tune-ups, but basically a very light edit. After I hear back from a few people who agreed to read it, I’ll consult with someone who knows a lot more about horror markets than myself and find it a home.

The piece I mentioned earlier last week, one that a lawyer friend consented to my co-opting is done; however, it turned out nothing like expected. So different, it earned a new title.

Originally, the title was Hiding My Johnson, and yes the tongue in cheek reference was intentional. I believe we both pictured a dark comedy. When I started writing, it was funny, and delivered a few great zingers. With much amusement, I invested several hours per session into the project, growing the story. I laughed at the insanity of their predicament. I had fun. Then events turned.

Something happened between page five and six: the main character and the antagonist started playing different tunes. By page seven, the characters hinted that matters more ominous lay ahead than just black humor. I elected to not analyze, letting the characters run where they wanted; I would count the bodies later. And run they did. Even though I envisioned a dark comedy, the final product is…gasp…horror.

Not sure if it’s scary, so I’ll run it by a few of the Eight and get their take.

Since my head is still in a recent 2,500 mile car trip, and writing is its own journey, an analogy seems fitting. To cast the writing experience in road trip terms, maybe the true role of a writer is to be more an active passenger than a driver. Like the one with the map who highlights alternate routes. Listen more than talk, and suggest on occasion. But ultimately, the decisions are made by other forces in the car.

In other words, duck and get out of the characters way.

Random discoveries: two-thirds the surface area of the continental United States is Pennsylvania, every other trucker on I-476 smokes crank at the wheel, and the remaining half are fresh out of the stuff and want my car down a ditch.

Otherwise, a relatively uneventful trip so far. Except…

During the Wife’s driving spell, somewhere in Ohio, I called an old friend about a story idea we tossed around ten years ago. My question was what happened with it, because the premise was comedic gold. Always I had wondered if he wrote it. He did not, though he remembered our drunken conversation near a golf course and some bits of dialog.

So I asked if he minded if I ran with it, as the concept was entirely his idea. He agreed. I now take back everything evil I’ve said about lawyers; there is one who has a soul and a sense of propriety. And this story will be a good project because it’s impossible for me to think about the idea for more than sixty seconds without chuckling.

True, what punches my buttons may only resonate with those who share my brand of humor, which who the hell knows how many people that really is, but I can deal with that possibility. If nothing else, I’ll bring enthusiasm to the page.

Last thought, a slow hotel Internet connection is better than no connection.

In the morning, the Wife and I leave for the Heartland. Middle America. Kansas — the Wheat State. Think I’ll tear through a cornfield at mdnight and summoun Malakai. Or maybe I’ll just wish my grandparents a happy 60th wedding anniversary, and take some pictures.

The eerie thing about this excursion: their 50th blowout doesn’t seem all that long ago. In fact, the Wife — she was the Girlfriend, though she was always the One — had just moved in together.

The blog will improve when I return next week. Less clunkers, more grins. Seriously. If there’s Internet access between now and then, I may through up a post or two. And I get to see Pollster’s new house.

Closer to the halfway mark with Team Eagle Eye edits. Of the 32 chapters addressed thus far, 32 end with a cliffhanger. Expect the unexpected, I say. Also, the hero figures more prominently in the narrative. The action is tighter and more consistent. Overall this is getting to be the sort of story I wanted all along, but lacked the tools, the chops, and the life experience to write.

Before the first tech bust, I worked at a consulting company which employed three tech professionals I respect. One of them said, “Deploy the sort of solution you would pay for, nothing less. That’s the greatest measure of quality.”

He may have been talking about code, but I think his theory applies here as well; this is almost a book I would buy.