Yesterday, I did 1,182 words on this new story. It still doesn't have a name.
Day before yesterday, I posted this to Facebook:
It's twenty years from now, and two people meet in a squalid theater (stage, not cinema) in a partially flooded NYC. They're making an exchange of some dreadful and illicit commodity, probably for money, maybe for drugs, but the currency used in the exchange is irrelevant. Whatever is being exchanged is very illegal and very desired. You would likely find it disturbing, sinister. On stage, a version of the story of Echo and Narcissus is being acted out. And here's the question: What is is that is being exchanged, what is being sold, what is being bought, what is being dealt?
And there were some very interesting answers. A small number of very good answers. The set up is the same as for the story that I'm working on. From the replies, I saw that people are obsessed with information exchange and healthcare. I may post some of the answers later. It's always interesting when I find an actual use for something as useless as Facebook.
I also posted, late that same night: I once said to my agent, "Someday, I'll write you a happy story." Or maybe I said "a story with a happy ending." It was a long time ago, like maybe 2006, right after I'd finished writing Daughter of Hounds (she's been my agent since 1998). The nearest I have come, I think, to keeping my promise is "The Steam Dancer (1896)" and The Drowning Girl: A Memoir. Just a stray thought....
Hubero had a rough few days. On Tuesday, he had four teeth removed, and he's an old cat to go through such a thing. But he's on the mend now. Spooky took this photo before I woke this morning: