Progress Update: Lost Causes

It is quite clear to me that, like Ralph, I am killing myself. I had writers' block all of yesterday so I didn't write. I told myself that it would be okay--that I would write two chapters in one day. The first one, Chapter 4, is done. Thank God. It is significant in that Ralph snaps at Erikson and does something completely against his better judgment that I can't bring myself to type here. An excerpt in reference to the Erikson fiasco.

Erikson’s eyes settled on Ralph’s lapel. The American flag pin was not just any American flag lapel pin. It was a custom design that Erikson had seen before. “You’re right, Mr. President. I am running for President because you insist on fighting the Western States of America.” He knew who had worn that pin before its current bearer. “But there is something else that needs to be clarified, and that is the reason why you insist on fighting the sovereign and independent Western States of America. For me, this election is about California, yes, but for you, California is about Mark Adams.”
Ralph turned dead pale.
“I don’t know why, considering you only really met the man the day of the attack on San Francisco. I only know what I saw at that last Cabinet meeting, when we took the vote. When you raised your hand to vote with him, you looked as you do now. You voted with him against your better judgment because you thought it was your duty. You continue to fight the WSA because you think it is your duty to continue Adams’s delusional policy. But it is time that you get over his death and accept reality.”
Quietly, weakly, Ralph plead, “Mr. Erikson.”
“At that meeting, your would-be Vice President Paul Navarro voted to let go of the West.”
A little firmer, Ralph tried again, “Mr. Erikson.”
“At that meeting, your own wife voted to let go of the West.”
“Erikson!” Ralph screamed with the sum of his rage and hatred.
Finally, Erikson stopped talking and stared at his pathetic prey with a cruel and sadistic smile.
“Erikson,” Ralph was hoarse. He glared at the man with all his might. He spoke as firmly as he could, “This is not about Mark Adams.”
“Of course it is. What happened to your straight talk? What happened to your so-called honesty, Mr. President? What happened to doing the quote-on quote,” he could not resist the urge to make demeaning little air quotes with his fingers “right thing no matter what? Face it,” he sneered, “this is about Mark Adams.”
“Shut the hell up!” Ralph gasped in exasperation. Erikson was killing him—in public, and on his birthday, for God’s sake. “I’ve continued Adams’s policies because Mark Adams was right. I’ve continued his policies because I know them to be right.” Suddenly, as he spoke and believed himself, he regained the strength that he had lost when Erikson breached the subject of Mark. Ralph found the strength for buoyancy. “We cannot simply let our country fall apart. We have not wronged California, Oregon, Washington, or Nevada in any way. They have no reason to leave this sacred Union, and by God, I cannot let them do it. That is not because of any sense of duty I may or may not feel towards the memory of Mark Adams; no, indeed, it is because of what I learned from Mark Adams in the three days between the secession and his death. He taught me that you don’t give up on something just because it seems like a lost cause. You fight harder. Erikson, I am more myself now than I have ever been. This is straight talk, and this is honest truth. Fighting for our Union in the face of your foolish adversity is the right thing to do. And that is why I have fought for a seemingly lost cause these past nineteen months. That is why I intend to continue fighting for a seemingly lost cause. I’ve done and will continue to do it because I don’t care that it is a seemingly lost cause. Our Union cannot be lost, and I will fight for it and lose if I must.” He stopped for air. He surveyed the auditorium full of blank, shocked faces. Bob Schlesinger looked like he really might have that heart attack now. Erikson, again, was shocked into silence.
He stood up slowly, breathing heavily. He did not smile, did not even try. He turned to walk off stage, but he caught another glimpse of Erikson’s face. He turned back. “By the way,” he snickered, “if you wanted to run against Mark Adams, you should have run for President four years ago.”