Today's Pic/Yesterday's Summary

“Booth, wake up,” Kate whispered.
“Shhh,” Kate said. Booth’s face softened. Booth asked.
Booth asked.
Kate asked.
Kate wondered. Kate shoved Booth into the door. “Very funny,” Kate said. Booth eyed Kate’s outfit.

A photo

An apology to googlers

A lot of people (well, maybe 3 or 4 a day) are stumbling into this corner of crap accidentally, led here by innocent Google searches. They search for relevant and pertinent information concerning Lincoln, the Election of 1860, and Allan Pinkerton. Instead, they find me.

I'm ever so sorry. Hit the back button on your browser; find the Wikipeda article that probably popped up at the top of your search results. Start there.

Another turning point

Wearing that 2003 NANOWRIMO shirt.

Hit another kind of turning point today. Or another realization. Or something. Somehow worked into Lincoln's security using a look-alike for his security and then thought, "What if they hired John Wilkes Booth as his look-alike?" Booth was an actor, right? Well.... So then it comes up that Booth might be sent to Baltimore without additional security even knowing that there's an assassination plot -- basically using him as bait. Kate, of course, can't abide by this -- sending an innocent man to his death. This scene kinda hit me as neat:

“Who gives a damn about appearances?” Kate asked. “This is a man’s life I’m talking about.”
“Booth knew what he was getting into when he signed up for the job.”
“So did Lincoln,” Kate countered.
“Touché. But surely you’d agree that Lincoln’s life is worth far more than Booth’s, right?”
“I didn’t come here for a philosophical debate on the value of the life of an individual. I will grant you that Lincoln will do more for the health and prosperity of the Union than Booth will. However, we’re not talking about saving lives here. We’re talking about potentially throwing away one man’s life to preserve the reputation of another.”

So, Kate's going to break him out and take him through Baltimore safely, saving Booth's life, but ultimately dooming Lincoln's. Wubba wubba!

Auto Summarize

Word's auto-summarization feature is so fascinating to me. It's obviously meant for more structured and expository documents, because when used on fiction, it goes ka-ka crazy. I think they're probably more coherent than my excerpts.

Going to include some of each day's work from now on. I think. Here's today:

Lamon chuckled. “I’ve shown you my credentials,” Kate said. Kate asked.
“Wise words, Miss,” Lamon agreed. Kate shook her head. Lamon sighed. Kate asked.
Kate shrugged. “Fine, Mr. Lamon. Lamon retreated into the suite and beckoned Kate to enter. Lamon shut the door.
Kate asked.
Kate couldn’t believe her ears. Lamon chuckled. Kate asked, astonished. Kate asked.
Lamon said, confused.
“It’s quite impressive,” Kate agreed. Lamon nodded. “John Booth. Kate laughed.
“Ah, now Lincoln’s a fine fellow. If Lincoln goes into Baltimore and is killed, all is lost. Kate asked. “So did Lincoln,” Kate countered.

11/18 Photo

Word 30,000

It snowed today. In a few moments, there was accumulation. This is ridiculous!

Word 30,000? Fittingly enough, it was "Kate." She has taken over this "novel" almost completely. Just writing a scene where she catches sight of Lincoln and I realized that it had been over a week since I wrote anything for him. Funny how the first week of November I felt I was so deeply entrenched in Lincoln's head that he was like someone I knew. After a week of writing for Kate, when she see him, I really felt like I no longer knew him at all. Real bizarre.

I'm so much more favorable towards Pinkerton lately. Turns out he was a staunch abolitionist, real seeker of justice.... The Deadwood stuff, of course, comes from one of the most vile people (Swearengen) and naturally he would be opposed to someone who was looking to put an end to his criminal way of life. On the other hand, Pinkerton (or Pinkerton agents) were hired by coal mines to bust up unions and deal harshly with thieves and organizers.... Tough to know, really, which side the man stood on.

Still little hope of integrating this all. People ask me if they can read it when I'm all done and with this one, more than any other, I don't think I'll ever be done. I guess they (you) can read it in its entirety, but....there's right now a real big jump in structure, tone, voice, character between the two parts. Not sure if it makes for a good read. Maybe someone will have a concept of how to put it all together. I'm too deeply into the need to get the words done, perhaps I can leave it to someone else to decide how to put them into the right places, or if it's even worth it....

Something of an excerpt

It's sweater time!

More writing at Morseland. Makes the hours just melt away. Noticing that this year, although the story is much less coherent, I'm able to get the words done at decent hours. Not nearly as much 3AM writing, or exhaustion, or stuff like this which was simply autobiographical material about what I saw when looking in the mirror one day. 28,531 words and other than killing most contractions, using 2 adjectives when 1 will do, and one or two minor word pads, all the words are honest-to-goodness words that belong. (These are different from good words whose number is much smaller....)

Anyhow, here's some stuff:

Back at the party, Kate noticed strange couple completely out of place at the affair. The gentleman wore a fedora, a long cape, short pants and jackboots, while the woman wore a Chinese robe and her feet were wrapped in dirty gray bandages. Rather than being ostracized, however, they were surrounded by a captive audience. Intrigued, Kate approached the group.
The man was speaking loudly, while the woman danced in circles around him. The crowd that had gathered were clapping along, cheering whenever the man said something that they found particularly poignant.
“….and I say that is bupkis!” shouted the man. “If we are not free to choose are own destiny, why then did our forefathers gather this collective of colonies into a nation in the first place? Would we not at be better off still under British rule? At least then, our tea would not be so expensive!”
The crowd burst into applause. Kate turned to one observer and asked, “Who is that man?”
“That is Mr. Hutcheson,” replied the man. “He is a great speaker, is he not?”
“He’s a great something, alright,” Kate said under her breath. The man was ridiculous, garish, and far too overt in his disdain for the Union to be genuine, Kate thought. But still, it was the strongest lead she had and she would be remiss if she didn’t pursue it. So, she lingered at the edge of the crowd, half-listening to Hutcheson’s rantings while she scanned the crowd for signs of Abernathy and Ferrandini, neither of whom she had seen thus far.
Hutcheson’s speech eventually trailed off, having invoked the wrath of God, good Southerners everywhere, and common decency upon any man, institution or entity who tried to take away his given rights to own another man, drink as much whiskey as he wanted to or dance on Sunday mornings. The crowd dispersed, and Kate was left standing, facing Hutcheson and the dancing woman who was now busy gathering up a handful of coins that the crowd had thrown at their feet. Kate shook her head, wondering what other entertainment the evening would have to offer. She was turning to leave when the Hutcheson stopped her with a piercing gaze, filled with uncomfortable familiarity.
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” Hutcheson said.
“We have not,” Kate replied.
“Ah, yes, well. Allow me to rectify that. I am Mr. John Hutcheson, and this,” he gestured towards the robe-clad woman, “is my associate, Miss Hattie Lewis.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Kate said automatically. “My name is Barley.”
Hutcheson crossed the ten feet of floor that separated them and asked, “Miss Barley?”
Kate sighed. “Yes, Miss Barley. Miss Mary Barley.”
Hutcheson took Kate’s hand and kissed it delicately, though he looked as if he were considering more. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Kate took her hand back distastefully. “Indeed. If you’ll excuse me….” She searched for an excuse to leave Hutcheson’s company.
Hutcheson leaned in more closely and whispered, “I think your cover may have been compromised.”
Kate recoiled in shock. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“Why have you never heard of John H. Hutcheson? Southern loyalist? Performer extrordinaire? Gadfly, layabout, ne’er-do-well? Or perhaps, John H. Hutcheson, comedian, sharpshooter and master chef? No?”
Kate shook her head. Hutcheson lowered his voice again, “Perhaps you have heard of” and his voice changed to one very familiar to Kate “Mr. Allan Pinkerton, detective, loyal Unionist, friend to honesty, foe to crime?”
“Mr. Pinkerton!” Kate hissed.
“Quiet, Kate,” Pinkerton said. “It wouldn’t do to be overheard.”
“When did you arrive? What are you doing here?”
“I arrived this morning, and I’m doing the same thing you’re doing: attempting to serve our country’s good by protecting the life of its leader-to-be.”
Kate gazed past Pinkerton at the dancing woman who was now making a circuit around the room, holding Pinkerton’s hat and asking each man she passed for a donation of any change they could spare.
“Who is she?” Kate asked.
Pinkerton glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, that is Miss Hattie Lawton – she’s going by Lewis on this mission – another fine addition to the Pinkerton Woman’s Detective Agency.”
“The what now?” Kate asked.
“Oh, I neglected to inform you. I’ve decided that my success with you could be duplicated, so I’ve established – much to my sons’ displeasure, mind you – a division within the agency made up of female agents. I know you were proud to be the only woman amongst us, but take heart in knowing that you will always have been the first. And besides, now you’ll have someone to talk to.”
Kate wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I’m not sure that we’d have that much in common.”
“Oh come now,” Pinkerton said. “She’s quite charming, in her own way. She does tend to get lost in her roles, though. I told her to play eccentric, but she’s taken it well beyond there and all the way to flat out crazy.” Pinkerton sighed. “Still, she’s amusing. And very convincing.”
“Speaking of convincing,” Kate said, “that was quite a show you put on there.”
“Did you enjoy it? I was quite proud. Wrote it on the train from Chicago.”
“It was hardly subtle.”
“Subtlety, I’ve found, is not an art that these people have much appreciation for. No, better to go over the top, let people have no doubts about where your loyalties lay.”
“If anyone believed that act, they’ll have no doubts about yours.”
“Exactly.”
“You said that you think my cover may be blown?” Kate asked.
“Indeed. I noticed a distinct chill exhibited towards you by many of those in the crowd. Either they suspect you are a Unionist, or else you did something, in your few days here, to anger them.”
“I did attempt to provoke Ferrandini – you received my letters, didn’t you? – with a prayer for Lincoln’s health,” Kate admitted.
“And why, pray tell, did you do that?”
“I’m not sure. I supposed I had tried everything else.”
“So instead of the subtle approach, you took a blunter tactic,” Pinkerton suggested.
“I imagine I took the wrong approach.”
Lawton returned, Pinkerton’s hat almost filled with coins. Taking the hat from her, Pinkerton asked, “How much, do you think?”
“About twenty-five dollars, all told,” Lawton said.
“This will make a fine donation to someone’s cause,” Pinkerton mused.
“Hello Miss Warne,” Lawton said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Allan has told me so much about you.”
Allan? thought Kate. She calls him Allan?
“I wish I could say the same about you,” Kate replied. “I’ve heard next to nothing about you.”
“Well,” Lawton said, “I’ve only just come on board. But Allan says I’m a natural. That I have a great future ahead of me in the business.”
“That’s splendid. Will you excuse Allan and me for a moment?”
Lawton looked at Pinkerton who, with the slightest movement of his eyes, told her to leave them in private.
“Are you sleeping with her?” Kate demanded.
For the first time in their association, Pinkerton appeared not to have anticipated Kate’s question. “What?” He laughed nervously. “Of course not! Miss Warne, don’t be ridiculous. You sound just like my sons.”
“Well, your sons are as observant as you, sometimes. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. They figured us out rather quickly.”