And then, the funniest thing happened
Creativity is such a fickle ball of beeswax.
I spent hours recording, editing, and posting the prologue of Firebug to social media a week ago. It was the first time I’d ever shown an excerpt from the novel to anybody outside of a close circle of family and friends. And within hours of posting it, I realized —
That scene shouldn’t be the prologue.
This epiphany, while poorly timed, was undeniable. The next morning, after over a decade of working on this story, I wrote the scene that was always meant to be the prologue (moving the original “prologue” I’d posted to a later chapter). The new prologue introduces us to the main character as a child, and the scene returns to the story in the second act (told as an anecdote) and the third act (spoiler redacted). It is the beginning of a thread that connects the entire story, the heart of the metaphor at the center of Firebug.
I’ll share the new prologue at the end of this blog post.
In other news, as the first month of 2025 comes to a close, I’m celebrating an important milestone: I’ve completed edits on 🔥 Firebug!! 🔥
The last bit of editing involved searching for and doing my best to eliminate “weak words,” which was a true test of my morale. I had to pull up Stephen King’s IT and run the same word search so I didn’t want to give up writing forever because of how many instances of “there” I found (Firebug clocked in at 253 vs. IT’s 2,153).
Next steps are to reach out to folks in the publishing world (editors, agents, and publishers) to see if I’m going to pursue traditional or self-publishing. I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me, but I’m grateful that I get to close out January by checking off such an essential box.
Thanks all for reading along. Here’s that new prologue for you. :)
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Olivia Madden stared out the windshield of her Daddy’s car. Streaks of rain shifted through traffic light colors as Daddy muttered to himself in the driver’s seat. She took in the pockmarked landscape of his cheek as a muscle bulged in his jaw, bristling his sparse beard, deepening the lead weight feeling in her belly.
Daddy played cards with his friends every week despite the experience nearly always making him angry. He was extra angry today, because Mommy was supposed to have been the one to pick Olivia up from her friend’s house, but sometimes Mommy drank too much to stay awake past dinner. Olivia touched the seatbelt where it crossed over her neck. She was supposed to be in her car seat, but she’d been too scared to point this out when Daddy walked her to the car, his breath fuming with something that smelled like Mommy’s hairspray.
Heavy raindrops pattered the windshield, swept aside by a creaky set of wipers. Olivia looked down at her side to get a better look at the brown duct tape her father deployed to cover a hole in the disintegrating leather seat. She couldn’t reach the tape from her car seat, but now, it was right next to her, curling back at the ends. Olivia watched her hand reach for the edge of the tape, longing to peel it back.
Daddy shouted over his shoulder, “Don’t tell your mother I’m driving without you in that kid’s seat.”
Olivia’s hand snapped back into her lap. Daddy must have just realized his mistake. She watched a familiar sign pass and knew they were almost home. Almost safe.
Green light washed over the car as they sped through an intersection. Daddy must have been drifting to one side, because he yanked the wheel, jerking the car back on course as a passing driver leaned on their horn.
The curling length of duct tape caught Olivia’s eye again. Maybe if she could move it without touching it, she wouldn’t get in trouble. She concentrated, trying to make the tape move with her mind, but it didn’t budge. She reached out and felt the rippled texture of the tape under her fingers. Maybe she could lift it, just a bit, and put it back…
She pulled, and the tape came away easier than she’d thought it would, revealing a dark fissure in the leather.
“Olivia, what did I tell you about messing with that tape?” Daddy snapped.
Olivia panicked and tried to press the tape back in place, but she was betrayed by its sudden lack of stickiness.
Daddy’s rage shook the car as he howled over his shoulder: “What did I just say?”
The traffic light painted the raindrops in the windshield yellow, then red.
A dazzling light splashed Olivia’s window, brighter than the streetlights or traffic lights, blinding white. Olivia screamed at the same moment the oncoming vehicle’s tires screeched against wet pavement, and then her side of the car turned into a jaw of metal and glass, biting down.