I'm actually at 24,502, but I'm not worried a bit. As I wrote in my first report (Late out of the gate), I started way behind this year. My outline wasn't nearly as detailed as in years past, and I honestly didn't know if I'd be able to finish.
But something strange happened. The words just flowed. And not only did they flow, but the story evolved in the process. My original plot revolved around some scientists that were being kidnapped to work on an Infernal Machine. By the time I got to the second chapter, I realized that if they all belonged to the same professional organization, there could be a reason why the victims were chosen, and a pattern for the heroes to discover.(Remember, this story takes place in 1938).
But something strange happened. The words just flowed. And not only did they flow, but the story evolved in the process. My original plot revolved around some scientists that were being kidnapped to work on an Infernal Machine. By the time I got to the second chapter, I realized that if they all belonged to the same professional organization, there could be a reason why the victims were chosen, and a pattern for the heroes to discover.(Remember, this story takes place in 1938).
The Empire State Electrical Society was founded in 1900 by Phineas Warton, an early manufacturer of electrical fixtures. Warton was convinced that electricity was the wave of the future and established the society to bring together the best minds in the field to encourage technological innovation
An inventor himself, Warton was independently wealthy from the many patents he held. He used that wealth to not only start the organization, but to provide a grand structure for its home. The Electrical Building, as it was known, had a grand white marble facade with elaborately carved lintels, door frames, and ledges. Two allegorical statues framed the entrance, representing electricity and light. b
Inside, the reception area was richly appointed with wood-paneled walls and inset mirrors. A large chandelier provided the illumination, its light bouncing off the mirrors and dazzling all who entered. There were several small but luxurious offices for the Society's staff emptying into the reception area, as well as a member's lounge and a well-stocked research library.
The upper floors contained laboratories of various sizes, where members could collaborate on experiments and test new forms of electrical distribution. The basement contained a small but powerful generator, ensuring the Society's work didn't overtax the city's electrical system.
On the top floor there was a large board room for the steering committee which ran the organization. A long mahogany table ran the length of the room. Six carved wooden chairs lined each side, with a large, high-backed leather chair at one end. Next to the leather chair, looking as if it had been placed there as an afterthought, was a plain folding camp chair.
And a fair amount of activity takes place in this facility I had no idea even existed until I wrote those words! Although I know who the ultimate villain will turn out to be, I had know idea he would have a confederate, and a ruthless one at that:
Smith opened the laboratory notebook to a marked page, and turned the book to face Connors. “Can you explain these figures?” Smith asked in a flat voice.Since I've started writing, everything has just flowed, and I'm able to bang out about 2,000 words a day. Have I finally hit my stride as a writer? I'm not 100% sure, but whatever this feeling is, I like it!
Connors looked at the numbers Smith had indicated with a long index finger. He studied them for a moment, uneasy, without exactly knowing why.
“It looks like I reversed the numbers after the decimals,” he said finally. “3.92 is too far out of spec. 3.29 is the correct reading, I’m sure.”
Smith pursed his lips and nodded. “Did you not read my note cautioning you against making false readings, Dr. Connors?”
“I – I did,” Connors stammered. “This notation was an honest mistake, I promise.”
Smith slammed a fist down on the desk, The notebook jumped from the force of the impact, Connors jumped from the force of the sound.
“Let me make things even clearer, Doctor,” Smith said. “Anything that delays the outcome of this project -- deliberate sabotage, sloppy work, anything -- will not be tolerated.”
Smith signaled to the two guards standing on either side of Connors. One seized his shoulders.
“You’re right-handed, I believe, Dr. Connors?” asked Smith.
Stunned, Connors nodded dumbly. Smith arched an eyebrow and the second guard grasped Connors left arm at the elbow and the wrist. With a swift motion he pushed Connors hand flat onto the desk, the fingers splayed out on the oak surface.
Smith opened a desk drawer. In it were a variety of implements. Smith dug through them and pulled out a rubber mallet, similar to the ones auto mechanics used.
Smith’s hand whipped over his head and brought the mallet down hard on Connor’s left little finger. Pain overpowered the scientist. His knees buckled and he gasped for air. As he sagged, the two guards released their hold and he sank slowly to the floor.
Smith walked around his desk and stood over him. He gently tapped the mallet in the cupped palm of his left hand.
“You have received a warning, and a punishment. I have other tools in my drawer that can deliver much more pain. Your finger will bruise and swell, but will heal over time. Let it serve as reminder. I expect full cooperation, and I expect your best work at all times. You will return to your lab now and do so.”
The two guards each grabbed an arm and helped Connors to his feet. They half-walked, half-drug him to the door. One opened it, and before they pulled Connors into the hall, they turned him around to face Smith once more.
Smith pointed the mallet at Connors. “I expect not to see you in my office again. The consequences next time will be worse, I promise you.”
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