I was going to write a Haiku, but I can't seem to get my head around it like I want to. I wanted to express this feeling I don't have - don't have. Completion.
I have completed something the likes of which I have never accomplished before in my life. I have written 12,000 words about a single subject. I know what I should be feeling, because I've felt it before. Like the time I rebuilt an Army surplus fork lift truck to like new condition, as a young man. Like the many times I've wrestled complex computer problems to the ground and walked away having 'danced with the bear' with a puffed up chest and a pressing need to tell somebody, anybody, all about it. Completion and an almost unbearable feeling of accomplishment.
I don't feel it.
I think, maybe, there's more to the story.
And I think it's called "Vigilante, The Sarah Pierce Story".
I have done a little test story and it works. It is subject to change, but I thought you might like a look at what I have started.
Here is the opening of Chapter One - The Gun
She walked into the little desert gun shop with no idea what it was she was looking for. She had a mission - just no idea how to do what she had in mind.
"Can I help you?"
"I hope so. I need to learn how to shoot. Can you recommend someone?"
"I think so. What are you looking to use? Handgun? Rifle? Long range? Close in?"
"I don't know. I suppose I probably want to keep as much distance as possible between me and my, uh, target? Yeah, target. I'm not exactly a hunter. I'm not going to be creeping up on anybody, uh, anyTHING."
"Well, then, you'll probably want a rifle. Something light and smaller caliber. High muzzle velocity."
Jake Bertrett was an ex-Marine who had been badly wounded on Guadalcanal. But the wounds inside his head were worse than the wounds on his body. They treated the wounds they could see. They denied the existence of the wounds they couldn't see. Jake Bertrett was an angry and bitter man. This little gunshop was all he had in the world. That and the collection of 'special' firearms he kept in the cellar, the arms he and his compatriots would use when the Uprising came, and the State of Nevada exerted its right of Sovereignty and seceded. The Sons Of Nevada would make sure her veterans were well cared for and tended to. The revenue from the casinos that were popping up all over the state would supply the money to take care of the vets. They'd see to that.
"How much is a rifle like that going to cost?"
"I don't know. Depends on the piece. Could be a couple hundred. Of course, the piece will depend on your ... target ... and your hunting ground."
"Okay. What about learning to shoot?"
"I'll teach you what you need to know. I've got a small range out back. And I was a sniper in the Corps. I can teach you alright. How much you willin' to pay to learn?"
She stared at him for a long moment, trying to size him up. Average height, very muscular build, head shaved and scarring visible on his arms and hands. But his clear blue eyes held pain - and there was a haunted look there, that she had seen in other people, other vets, those that had seen seen, and done, terrible things during the war. She didn't know why, but she knew, instinctively, that this was a man she could trust.
There's more. And as I said, it's subject to revision. Truth be told, I've revised this since I put this post together. The idea is percolating and I think I feel it. I don't know how the whole thing is going to work, yet. But then, I didn't know with The Kid, either.
And he turned out o.k., right?