About a week ago I asked Raine to read the first 100 or so pages about TCRA (yes I’m blogging about THAT BOOK again, but I have a point) while keeping in mind that I wasn’t sure I was telling the right story. I quickly laid out an alternative scenario that meant scrapping most of the book, which is actually something I’ve been thinking about for a year.

Anyway, this weekend I got her read back and she said it was fine but if I really felt that I might not be telling the best story, to write a chapter or two of my alternative story and find out if it worked. So I did. I ended up cranking out 18 pages (most of it new) on Sunday. I, of course, sent the first ten or so to Raine and asked her what she thought. She said it was better, but of course it’s my choice whether I stick with the new or go back to the old and I said, “I’m afraid if I don’t do this I won’t be telling the best story I can. But it’s daunting (thinking of starting from scratch).”

Remember this is my first manuscript and a lot has changed about my writing in four years. The first version has a lot more internalization so you can feel it more, but the second version is more sparse and has more movement.

I guess my point is don’t be afraid of things like this because there’s more than one way to tell a story. Neither is wrong, nor right. They’re just different. Sometimes it’s not just about cutting your darlings, it’s about burying them! :D

So we went from this (And I skipped the prologue):
“So you finally decided to wake up?”
I looked up into eyes the same pale blue as mine, my brother’s eyes, and blinked, trying to push past the drug and pain induced fog. I inhaled through my nose then winced, groaning deep in my throat.
“Yeah, that’s broke too.”
“Hurt,” I croaked. My nose was broken.
“What the hell did you expect, Jessa?” Jace frowned at me, then moved out of my line of vision. I blinked again and slowly turned my head, watching him pour water into a small plastic cup. Suddenly I realized just how thirsty I was. And the low uncomfortable pressure down below. I had a damn catheter in me. I hated catheters.
Jace held the straw to my lips and I sucked up a bit of water. A gasp of air set more pain radiating through my chest to all extremities.
“What happened?”
“Duster’s Twister kicked your ass.”
Talk about a bad draw. Getting your ass kicked by a horse ain’t no fun. I sighed and sifted through my thoughts a minute, trying to take stock. “Daddy?”
“Gone. Mama was raising hell about getting home for Christmas, so they took off. There were…snowstorms coming.”
And that was way more important than me. My brother’s announcement coincided with a twinge of pain in my chest. Surely it was physical and nothing to do with Daddy leaving me. I wet my lips with a tongue that finally decided to work and croaked out, “How bad?”
Jace turned his attention to the cup in his hand. He set it down, refusing to meet my eyes. My brother wasn’t normally one to sugar coat things, which meant it was worse than bad. “I should tell the nurse you’re awake.”
That made me wonder how long I’d been not awake. “Jace!” I growled as loud as I could without hurting myself.
“You should hear it from the doctor. I might get it wrong.” Jace made for the door.
“I’m through,” I announced with all the certainty of a death row inmate receiving their last meal. He stopped and his head dipped. It wasn’t every day a girl became a washout at twenty-six. But I’d known as soon as I woke up, and Daddy’s desertion only confirmed matters. My heart sat like a boulder in my chest but to my surprise, I had no tears to shed. Jace turned to face me and while I lacked tears, he didn’t. “Don’t cry, Jace. We had a good run, but it’s over.”
Jace scrubbed at his face, took a deep breath and crossed the room to my bedside. “I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

To this (it’s not perfect, it’s still rough but…):
Easing to my feet, I grabbed my duffle bag from the overhead storage and got in line to exit the plane. The sense of urgency that had ridden me from Vernal to the airport in Salt Lake City and the entire plane ride to New Orleans refused to ease up, and I knew it was the reason it seemed like everyone was exiting the plane as slowly as possible.
Once I muttered my good-bye to the flight attendant and made it to the causeway I pushed free of the crowd and picked up my pace, refusing to let my bum leg, cramped by the flight, slow me down. Kane stood in the crowd just outside the security area, dressed in his customary jeans and t-shirt, a smile breaking free of the worry lines on his weathered face. He looked tired and judging from the stubble on his face, he hadn’t shaved in at least three days.
It wasn’t often John Kane called me asking for help, so when he did, I moved, which was why I’d gotten on a plane at the crack of dawn’s ass, despite a healthy fear of flying.
“Thanks for coming, Jessalyn.” As my oldest and dearest friend, John Kane was the only one allowed to call me by my full first name.
“Well, you know, it took some doing to clear my schedule, but I made it.”
He chuckled softly and took my bag from me. In truth, we both knew I’d been doing nothing for the last six months but recuperating and sitting on my ass, feeling sorry for myself.
“How is she?”
“She’s fading fast, and she wants to meet you.”
The news his dying grandmother wanted to meet me, caught me off guard and I stopped in my tracks, unmindful of the ebb and flow of disgruntled weary travelers around us. “Why?”
“I told her about you.” Kane turned and kept walking, forcing me to hustle to keep up. We didn’t speak again until we reached his truck.
“You told your grandmother about me, but you never told me about her?”
“I’ll explain on the way there. Now, get in the truck.”
I did as he asked, knowing now wasn’t the time to be giving him hell about small details. If his grandmother wanted to meet me, then so be it. “Talked to dad the other day.” Actually it had been about three months ago.
“And?” Kane started the truck, backed out and headed out of the airport.
“Caron’s pregnant.”
“Who’s the lucky bastard that got her pregnant?”
Here I chuckled even though I knew I shouldn’t have. After all, Dad blamed me for the mess my sister had gotten into. “Cutter LeRoux.”
“Holy shit.” His voice was low but there was no hiding the humor.
“Thought you might like that.” Again it wasn’t funny, but my sister and I weren’t close, and I hadn’t forced her to sleep with Cutter last Thanksgiving. “Apparently, she’s refusing to marry him and she’s due in about two months. Her mother’s about fit to be tied.”
“How’s your brother?”
“Out rodeoing, so I haven’t heard from him.” And it hurt like hell especially since the last time we’d talked things hadn’t gone well. “Now, how bad is your grandmother?”
“She’s got a week, tops.”
“How come you never mentioned her?” I figure since she wanted to meet me, that gave me permission to be a little nosy.
“Everybody has a grandmother.”
“And here I thought you were born full grown, walking and talking and smoking cigars.”
“Very funny.”
“So where are we going?”
“Metairie.”
“Why don’t you want to talk about her?”
One of the things I loved about Kane was that he didn’t talk just to hear himself, it’s what had made us such good traveling companions. But the drive to Metairie was going to be long and silent. He sighed, reached for the radio and thought better of it, returning his hand to the steering wheel. “Her name is Jessica. Everyone calls her Granny Jo, though.”
“That’s sweet.” I didn’t push this time, waiting to see what he’d say.
He took a sip from an oversized soda cup, his attention never wavering from the road. “I have to tell you something, Jessa, and I’m not sure how you’re gonna take it.”