Precession is a Force to be Trusted

Finally. Finally. Finally. I finally finished the third draft of the first chapter of my first novel. It took me how many months? I have lost count. All summer, I think. Anyhow, I just finished it. I have no idea what to think of it. It is 5500 words and 18 pages, considerably longer than even my freakishly consistent long chapters in Martyrs.And oddly enough, I think it says less than the first two versions. I'm getting more verbose. I think that's a bad thing. Oh whatever. Mark is less bipolar in it. Which is very, very good.

And the other thing about it? It's fun. It is so much more fun. In a dark, twisted, morbidly-ironic-for-the-omniscient-author sort of way. As in, I enjoyed writing part of it tonight. Mark is such a jerk. I love him. Poor Ralph. God I love this.

Anyhow, the whole thing is really about precession. I pushed. Went a direction I didn't mean to go, but whatever, I love it anyway.

With a tired shrug, Ralph offered, “Sir, I’m not sure that many people would see peace as compromising liberty.”

Mark pulled his lips into a thin, grim smile. “Do not be so sure, Ralph. Terror is a force of precession.”

Ralph’s eyes flashed in confusion. “What do you mean, sir?”

“Terror is intended as a source of chaos, Ralph. Terrorists use terror to incite fear and thus gain attention for their cause. They push for sympathy. They receive, almost invariably, hatred. And fear, yes, but they fail to understand that fear is only an effective management technique.”

“I’m not sure I understand, sir. An effective management technique?”

Mark leaned in, his eyes sparkling in the incandescence. “Let’s try an experiment.” He turned up his charisma to full, smiling his brilliant, intoxicating smile. “An experiment to prove the worth of terror.” He leaned in just a little farther. “Are you afraid of me, Ralph?”

Ralph’s eyebrows shot up. His facial features shrank together. He was keenly aware of the feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he wouldn’t call it fear. It was just a never-ending sense of shock at the President’s eccentricity. “Sir, why would I be afraid of you?” he asked, his stomach dreading the answer.

“Oh, you are naïve, aren’t you?” Mark marveled at the mouse before him. “Let’s see if you can’t answer that in one week from today. You will be afraid of me Ralph, mark my words. You will see that fear is quite an effective management technique. You will not doubt me. You will trust me implicitly—without reservation.” His voice darkened despite his smile, as if to foreshadow the fear that was to follow, “And let’s see how it turns out for the both of us. I have my hypothesis; you make yours.”

Ralph was pale, his black eyes shimmering, reflecting the frenzy of the man across from him. He sat straighter in his chair. His stomach squirmed. “I think you assume too much, sir.” He shook his head. “Don’t I have better things to be afraid of than you?”

“You mean China?”

"I mean the Red National Army, sir."