Essentially it’s just a group of committed (should be committed) runners training through the sleet and the snow in Central Park through the winter on weeknights starting at 7pm. The only real catch is that you have to dress as if the weather was 15 degrees or more warmer than it really is. The result is you start out freezing before you get warmed up and really moving. Writing’s a bit like that, too. When I first get into a chapter my efforts can be stilted and a bit unsure. I might need a couple of trial paragraphs to figure out which way I’m going. Once I settle on the path, however, my pace picks up and I’m away to the races…and I think I’ve tortured that metaphor enough for one night.
PROLOGUE: A BLACK CONDOR DIPPED her featherless head and flapped her wings, straining for height. Another vulture drifted in front of her, forcing the condor to climb higher in the crowded wheel of circling birds. The condor struggled, her body weak from having little to eat over the past month. The sun had yet to… Read more »