(For those not familiar with NaNoWriMo, it’s the National Novel Writing Month – in brief, slap 50,000+ words onto the screen as a “zeroth” draft of a novel. It’s not pretty, it’s not even a first draft, it’s simply an exercise in “Just – Keep – Putting – Words – TOGETHER!” and seeing what comes out the other side. I’ve done it five times and “succeeded” twice. I’ve decided to be incredibly self centered and foolish open about my process so I’ve put my work up here on this site for the last three attempts. Just do a search to see some of the crap I’ve inflicted on my loyal readers in the past. Actually, that might not be totally true – while being “zeroth” drafts, at least three of them had stories and characters that I actually thought were pretty good if I ever managed to get past the NaNoWriMo stage, finish them, and then start editing.)
I read a LOT of advice from authors on writing. The universal theme I’ve seen is that if someone tells you they have “the secret” and you just need to “follow these simple rules,” then that someone is full of shit and probably trying to sell you something. What works for you is what works for you and there are no shortcuts.
For last night’s drivel, here was my basic thought process:
- I know how I want to follow Chapter One’s main character – but not yet. Introduce a new character.
- Since I’m “pantsing” this like there’s no tomorrow, this means that I’m making up something totally new with about two brain cells in charge of making sure that somehow I’ll be able to tie this plot line to the one from Chapter One.
- I need someone who’s either going to threaten or save the Chapter One character, we’ll figure that out later. Where are they, what are they doing? Start with a scene, let it flow from there.
- I’ve got the Virtual Railfan site from Fort Madison, Iowa up on one monitor as background noise (as I often do) and there’s lots of loud traffic from the trains…
- Trying to sleep, keeps getting woken by the trains. The phone rings, it’s their boss…
- This isn’t bizarre enough, what we need is a malevolent, nameless, faceless supervillain
- Maybe. Is our new character a thug or a henchman? Henchwoman? Remains to be seen
- Make things not as they seem at first
One thing about “pantsing” is that I guarantee that I’ll be putting in contradictory information about characters. I try to minimize the damage, but this “zeroth” draft isn’t about fly-specking the details. It’s about throwing something against the wall to see what sticks. Cleaning up the details and polishing the plot holes away are for the first draft. Or the second.
So where do we go tonight? Back to, what was her name? Deb? Or off in a third direction? And if I do that, who and where and what and why?
All comments will be welcome.
CHAPTER THREE
“Monday and yesterday were so much better! I was so jet lagged that all I wanted to do was sleep,” Sara complained. “It didn’t matter if the Sun was up or not, everyplace here has blackout drapes. Besides, I could have slept even if the light of a thousand suns was burning through the cinder block wall. But now that I’m back in sync by brain is trying to deal with the fact that the Sun’s been up for about forty-eight hours too long and there’s NOTHING to do here!”
Carl considered just staying quiet and letting Sara rant, but where was the fun in that? He had dealt with his own jet lagged demons weeks ago and he liked it in Iceland. Sara was right about one thing, there wasn’t a whole lot of entertainment to be found in Grindavik, so you had to make your own fun there. Rubbing it in just a bit to the newbie would work just fine as a diversion.
“I wouldn’t say that there’s NOTHING to do here, Sara. It’s most certainly a different selection that we get at home, but that’s to be expected. You’re a long way from home. You’re going to be here a few months in all likelihood, why not get to know your way around town? It’s not that big. We can take a walk around the harbor. The football team might be practicing. There’s a basketball game at 18:00, and how can you not have seen the Saltfish Museum?” Somehow he managed to say the last bit sincerely and without cracking a smile.
“The harbor is cold, damp, and the wind hasn’t stopped howling since I got here. I don’t care if it is the middle of summer, this place is worse than the English moors. If by ‘football’ you mean ‘soccer,” you forget that I’m an American so I’ve been culturally indoctrinated fifty-plus years to not care about ‘football’? Unless the US Women’s Team is kicking everyone’s ass in the World Cup, of course. I don’t know what time it is because night time is broken here and I can’t even guess if 18:00 is two hours from now, ten, or if we’re already late. And if you ever mention ‘saltfish’ in my presence again I’ll either disembowel or defenestrate you, which is the most convenient for me and painful for you.”
“My, aren’t we a perfect little Miss Crankypants today? Okay, have you gone over the evacuation plan like I told you to? That’s sort of important actually.”
Sara sighed. “Yes, I did, but I noticed something. There are pretty much two different plans. If there’s an earthquake and tsunami, I need to run that way.” She pointed north, inland, away from the harbor. “If there’s a volcanic explosion, I need to run the other way.” She swung around and pointed east along the coast where the highway was. “But you and I both know that the most likely events will involve both at the same time. That scenario isn’t addressed at all!”
“Correct. Because all of the locals know that in that scenario they’re simply fucked and running just means that they’ll die tired. It’s a given.”
Sara’s expression made it clear that she didn’t know whether to take him seriously or not. She would table that discussion for later.
“So how about you take me out and show me the equipment that’s going to give us the early warning to avoid that nightmare scenario. Is there a reason we can’t go now?”
“Let me check in with Rob, I think he’s got this shift in the trailer. The first rule out here is that no one goes out alone, and the second rule is that you check to make sure it’s safe-ish before you go. I’ll go over the other rules while we ride.”
After a check with the staff on what turned out to be the 16:00 to midnight shift, Carl signed out a jeep, filed a “flight plan,” and soon had them on the road headed north out of town. They didn’t have to go far.
Two miles north of town they passed the hydrothermal power plant and the Blue Lagoon. It had once been an internationally known spa, known for its geothermal seawater, filled with silica, minerals, and algae. The “science” behind the “magical healing powers” might have been more marketing than rigorous, but it drove a healthy tourist industry for forty years.
The last eruption here had ended that in 2025. Nearby eruptions just to the east in the early 2020’s had made the area a tourist trap for eco-friendly volcano watching, so when a new eruption started near the lagoon and power plant the crowds had been massive. So had been the body count when the magma chamber had hit the underground seawater vents, resulting in a ginormous explosive eruption.
The latest rumblings were probably related to that event, but the epicenter of the earthquake swarm had moved much closer to the now closed spa area. There was considerable concern for both the staff at the hydrothermal power plant there and for the facility itself since it provided the bulk of the electricity not only for Grindavik, but also for the US military base and international airport at Keflavik. Sara was joining the team that had been sent in to monitor the situation and give everyone some warning if things went sideways.
Just after the exit from the highway that would have taken them to the power plant, Carl turned off onto a dirt track that was marked more by the warning signs at the entrance than by the presence of an actual road. A series of tall poles, topped with reflectors, wind flags waving in the breeze, and fluorescent orange paint marked the road’s location. It quickly became obvious why every vehicle on the island was equipped with four-wheel drive. At a crawl they bounced over the landscape until they turned around the side of a hill and lost sight of the road behind them.
Carl didn’t so much pull over as he simply stopped. Getting out he jeep he pulled out his pad and laid it out on the hood. Sara followed him, pulling her heavy sweater around her and looking around at the barren tundra.
“We’re here,” Carl said as he pointed to the pad. “The biggest deformation of the ground has been occurring between these small hills. We know that there are underground saltwater intrusions in this area and our fear is another catastrophic eruption. That highway we were on connects the south coast to the north and if it gets cut there aren’t a ton of other options.”
Sara scanned the horizon, trying to figure out which way was which. The goofy Sun didn’t help. None of that “rising in the east, setting in the west” nonsense up here at this time of the year. It just sort of spun around the horizon, getting a bit lower and then a bit higher. Carl saw her confusion.
“That way’s north, then east, south, and west,” he pointed. “They’re behind this hill right now, but in most places around here you can spot the lights on the radio towers just outside of Grindavik. That will help.”
Sara turned to the west, then back to the east.
“Where were the previous eruptions? In those hills over there?”
“Yes, the 2021 and 2022 eruptions around Geldingadalir were up in those hills. Then the 2024 and 2025 eruptions were back on the other side of the highway, just north of the Lagoon.
…to be continued…