Indie Author Tips #4 Behind the Typing

Indie Author Tips #4 Behind the Typing

Matt The Drug Dealer...alright, alright, alright.

Every once in awhile I read on my writer forums someone who is interested in reading a W.I.P (work in progress). Specifically they are interested in seeing how a book 'changes' between drafts. 

As I grow as a writer, I can see two problems with this request. First, I don't really want someone to read something I'm not proud of, nor have finished. Second, a lot of changes in editing are typos, some grammar mistakes, maybe a name change or two. Nothing you'd really notice unless you laid each page side by side. 

It's not like you are going to care I broke a long paragraph into two so as to make it easier to read, or that I added 'so as' between that two and to just so you aren't reading tu-tu in the middle of a sentence. 

However, sometimes there are big changes I make. The reasons vary but mostly it is because I feel the first draft doesn't read well. Perhaps it is slightly boring or there is too much exposition going on. Of course, I don't feel it at the time I'm writing - when it's going well, I'm just trying to keep my fingers at the same speed as my brain. 

So that said, I'm going to show a large change I did for a forthcoming novel from 1st to 2nd draft .

Context; this is a stand-alone chapter about Matt The Drug Dealer, who has found his sales plummeting since Karmajuana (you've read Enter a Fistful, yes?) has been legalized. He is one of a very few people that are not directly affected by Karmajuana's brainwashing abilities. Ironically, a lot of his chronics aren't either; turns out 1% of the population isn't affected by Karma.  

This is the first draft; (1400 words)

T-5 Matt the Drug Dealer

It was just past two pm when Matt heard the doorbell. He believed he jumped from his third-hand couch to his particle board door in record time. However, he didn’t exactly jump nor was it in record time as he was quite stoned. What he really did was slide off the couch like a half-full water balloon onto the floor and waited for his legs to catch up to the rest of his body.

It was only with supreme effort he was able to stand and focus on where the door was this time. The doorbell rarely rang anymore. As a businessman, the doorbell was a big part of his life in being a reputable and reliable pot dealer.

He peaked out the window before opening; another middle-aged man, not one of his regulars. Matt cursed. This guy would have the same request as all the other noobs who came ringing his doorbell like he was a goddamn McDonald’s; Karmajuana.

Matt had plenty of Karma. However, just because he didn’t like it, didn’t mean he wouldn’t sell it. He sold coke and hash and on occasion meth but he didn’t care for that clientele. The problem for him was he also had a lot of other shit that wasn’t moving and if it wasn’t moving, he wasn’t making money.

This new Karma shit was flooding the market and Matt was pretty experienced in the varieties of marijuana out there, knew his homegrown from his factory grown. This stuff was going gangbusters. People wanted it and people were getting it. He had made sure to try it himself, especially when it was becoming all the rage but he couldn’t see what the big demand was. It was a good buzz, nothing more. He had way more powerful shit sitting in his stash box than Karma but nobody cared. It was all they wanted. Karma, karma, karma. 

And he wasn’t the only one to notice. A couple of his chronics also mentioned their curiosity over what the big attraction was.

At first it was pretty exciting when Karma came out. After all, Matt was still a businessman who liked to listen to cold, hard cash. And everyone was buying. And by everyone, it was everyone.

Then it started getting weird. First, the neighbours came over and asked if he carried any of this Karmajuana they heard about. Then it was the moms. Trophy moms pushing strollers came right up to his door, looking straight out of a school board meeting, asking if he could set them up. Lastly, it was the cops. Cops actually coming to his door, ringing his goddamn doorbell and having the unusual audacity to ASK if he could score them some Karma. AND they did it politely. Fearing a set-up, he played ignorant. Then they just…left. No good cop, bad cop. No search warrants, no mind games. They just left.

His fellow dealers he was on speaking terms with had similar stories of being harassed by the Man in all shapes and forms, but not aggressively, not the ‘get-out-of-my-neighbourhood’ type way, just asking if they had any of this Karmajuana going around. Then everyone stopped asking because frankly, everyone was giving. It was a Karmajuana Christmas out there, every day. The very same cops who asked to get hooked up came by the next day and gave him a pack of nicely rolled Karma cigarettes then left. It was the strangest conversation ever and speaking as someone who has had plenty of odd conversations under the influence, that was saying something. 

The doorbell rang again but because he had muscle memory and still knew where the door was, it didn’t take him so long to get there from the couch. He checked the peephole, sighed happily and opened the door.

“What’s up, James?” Matt asked.

“Nothing, man. Just chilling. What’s up with you?” said James. Matt easily could smell the Karma on him.

“Want to come in?”

“Uh, yeah.” And while that was James’ opinion on the matter, he didn’t move. Matt looked up the street, noticed for the first time it was a pretty decent day outside and decided to sit down on the front steps. James sat down beside him. They both sat there doing nothing. James pulled out a Karma, lit it and handed it to Matt. They smoked in silence until there was nothing left.

“Hey James?” asked Matt.

“Yeah?”

“Have you noticed that things are, like, different lately?”

“Sorta. I was just at the 7/11. There’s nobody there.”

“You mean it’s closed?” asked Mike. The store was open 24/7 - he sent and received a lot of business to the convenience store for customers in search of munchies at 1am or drugs at 12am. He never knew it to be closed. 

“No. Like abandoned. It was still open but nobody was in there.”

“Someone must have been there. Maybe they were just in the shitter.”

“Well, there was this guy, Abed or Ammad or whatever. He said he worked there but he was smoking weed outside. Told me to go in and help myself to anything.”

Matt frowned. He knew Amed. He was a good guy but never smoked the bud. Never. He was the only clerk there whom Matt knew who would also ban shoplifters, as if he had a share in the profits the store made. If it was one of Matt’s customers, Amed would tell him so Matt would relay the message. Often Matt covered the losses with his own money or if Matt knew the thief, would personally bring them back to apologize to Amed and make them promise not to do it again. Matt respected Amed’s minimum wage honesty and business ethics, much like Amed respected his. He couldn’t match the vision of the Amed he knew with the Karma-smoking, apathetic Amed James described.

“And it’s not just him, there are a lot of open smokers out there now. Have you heard of these Karmafarians?”

“Karmafarians?” asked Matt, who was proud to never be up on current events, as was evident by his PS2 game system. “Never heard of them.”

“Yeah, it’s like, some type of cult or gang or something. They give away Karmajuana, for free.”

“Free? That doesn’t make any sense. Where’s the profit in that?”

“And everyone is just…chilling. Downtown is so quiet. Not quiet in people, lots of people, but more quiet in like no traffic. No cars. There’s just people sitting everywhere, chilling.”

James said chilling way more than was necessary. If Matt was in a pissy mood he called him on it. However, today was not one of those days.

“Weird,” Matt thought for a moment before admitting his experiences with the cops, “you know there is something really strange about that shit.”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s good, but it’s not like put-you-in-a-wheelchair and orgasm type good. It just makes everyone massively chill.”

“That’s what I thought too,” exclaimed Matt, happy to finally have someone on the same wavelength, “I don’t get it.”

“I heard that some of the chronics down at the skate shop also don’t get the big deal. Some say it’s the reason why marijuana was legalized. Somebody got it onto Parliament Hill and got everyone high, even the Prime Minister.”

“Fuck. Could you imagine? Getting high with the PM? What if everyone just stops doing shit and it’s up to the chronics to get shit done?”

“That would be awful,” said James, passing his Karma over to Matt.

“Yeah. I don’t even know where we would start. I guess we could get these Karmafarians to stop giving away free weed. My business is dying here.”

“Isn’t that more a job for the cops? Or for you know… your guys?”

Matt knew James was referring to his suppliers, rumoured to be part of the toughest motorcycle gang in North America.

“I haven’t heard from them in weeks. I don’t know what the hell is going on.”

“I don’t want to become a Narc. I mean, if it is a choice between free Karma and snitching, I’m on their side. I mean, free weed? Why not, right?”

“Well, in theory. Maybe we should ask around, see if the other guys feel the same about these Karmafarians, find out who they are.”  

But instead Matt and James sat on the front porch and watched the clouds and people go by. They began to notice the neighbours, many of them doing the same thing; just sitting on their front porches, chilling. The smell of Karma was heavy in the air.

 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<><>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

So I wrote that more than a year ago. Didn't think about it too much as it was simply only one character idea of many. Then I started getting serious of doing an Enter a Fistful sequel and I found I had all these short stories but no order to them. I had recurring characters, new characters, time-travelling characters (from a Nanowrimo challenge), political manifestos, hockey pool commentaries, a Dr. Strangelove tribute, etc. Basically I created a 'Frankenstein's Monster' of a story. It was overwhelming. 

I created some order in the chaos; a count-down of sorts. I separated characters into before/after/during on a timeline. I separated finished and unfinished chapters, did summaries of about 50+ individual short stories.

I chose Matt's story because if/when weed becomes legalized, it will affect people like Matt, who rely on the underground economy. He is Day #5 before all shit breaks loose. The goal of this was to show how quickly Karmajuana had spread across society. 

Now, onto the 2nd draft. 

The hard part is admitting when you don't like something you've done. I liked parts of Matt's story, didn't care for others. Some of it was a rehash of themes I'd already done. There's a lot of exposition there. What happened with the original guy who rang the doorbell? There's that paragraph on Abed and why Matt respected him. Is that needed? How is this advancing the storyline? So one night in bed I decided to change it. It then became this; 

Version 2 (1440)

T-5 Matt the Drug Dealer

It was just past two pm when Matt heard the doorbell chime.

The doorbell rarely rang anymore. As a businessman, the doorbell was a big part of his life in being a reputable and reliable pot dealer.

On the other side of the door was yet another middle-aged white guy who looked vaguely like a lost cop. It was someone he didn’t know but he knew this guy would have the same request as all the other noobs who came ringing his doorbell like he was a goddamn McDonald’s; Karmajuana.

He opened the door.

“Hey, how you doing?” the man asked.

“Fine,” replied Matt, looking up and down the street for witnesses.

“You want any Karma?”

“What?”

“You want any Karma?”

“Karma? As in Karmajuana?”

“Yeah, I have lots.” the guy said, grinning.

“How much?” Matt asked, curious as to who this guy thought he was, coming to his door and offering to sell HIM pot. 

“How much?”

“Yeah, how much you charging?”

“Charging?” he laughed, “No, man. We don’t sell Karma, we give it away.”

“You’re giving away Karma?" Matt was perplexed at the thought, "Who are you?”

“I’m a Karmafarian, from the Karmafarian party, three weeks now.” He held up a pin with a bowling pin on it which had nothing to do with anything from Matt’s perspective. “I’m here to spread our message.”

“Karmafarian?” asked Matt, who was proud to never be up on current events, as was evident by his PS2 game system. “Never heard of it.”

“What’s your message?” asked Matt.

“What?”

“What’s your message? You’re going door to door, giving away Karma, what’s your message?”

“We’re giving away Karma. What’s the confusion here?”

“Look, man. You know who I am?”

“Yeah, you’re Matt. Abed sent me here.”

“Abed? From the 7/11?” He knew Abed quite well. He sent a lot of business to the store in the form of clients in search of munchies at 12 am. In return, Abed sent clients there in search of weed at 11 pm. Abed was a good guy but never known to smoke the bud. Matt respected Abed’s minimum wage honesty and business ethics, much like Abed respected his.

“Yeah, he said you’re the guy to see about weed.”

“Yeah, but I don’t smoke it. I sell it. I sell all sorts of shit; acalpulco gold, prime Kush, wheelchair, skunk, Triple X, Triple Y. In fact, it is because of your Karma, I’m not selling shit anymore.”

“Glad to hear it, Karma is definitely not shit.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“You sure you don’t want any? It is free and it’s changing the world.”

He held out a pack of cigarettes. There was a stylized K on the cover.

“Trust me," he said, "This is changing the world. And it’s completely non-addictive.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“No, seriously.”

Behind them a cop car pulled up to the curb. 

“Hey, Ted, hey Matt,” said an officer from the car. Matt recognized Officer Michaels, one of the less friendly cops who always had a bead on for Matt.

“Hi Jeff,” called Ted, waving.

“Ted, I need more Karma,” said the officer. 

Matt looked at the two of them, confused.

“No problem,” said Ted. He turned to Matt. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

Ted approached the car, give Officer Michaels a pack of K and not be arrested. The officer called out to Matt. “You can trust this guy, Matt. He’s one of the good ones. And this Karma is way better than the shit you peddle.”

Matt raised one hand in acknowledgement.

“Okay, thanks for the unsolicited advice, officer.”

Ted came back up the walk as the police car pulled away.

“Here,” he said, giving Matt another pack, “take it. Our toll-free Karma number is in there if you have any questions.”

“Free Karma?” asked Matt.

Ted laughed again. “Free Karma. Just spread the word.”

An hour later, Matt was on his couch when the doorbell rang again. In the ashtray in front of him was the butt end of a Karma. Since smoking it, Matt had been in blissful contemplation. The doorbell went off again and in his mind he jumped from his third-hand couch to the front door of his rental unit in record time. 

In truth, it wasn’t in record time nor did he jump. Instead what he really did was slowly slide his legs off the couch like a half-full water balloon onto the floor and waited for the rest of his body to catch up.

It was only with supreme effort he stood and focused on where the door was. Part of being a reputable and reliable pot dealer was to never make a transaction while stoned. This state of mind and body was a clear indication of how poorly his business was doing lately, especially since they legalized marijuana. And then Ted came along with this Karmajuana. Matt felt like a candlestick maker when electricity was invented.

Of course he knew of Karma. It was the biggest rage right now. Matt seen this trend many times before when some new drug came out. First it was the kids, then it was the adults. Then it was a new drug and the cycle would continue. So for this month it was Karmajuana. He smoked some and wasn’t overwhelmed by it. It was weed. And he wasn’t the only one who felt confused as to the demand. A couple of his chronic customers also mentioned their curiosity over what the big attraction was. It was weed, nothing to change careers over and that was exactly what seemed to be happening. But all sorts of noobs were trying it, and that made for some pretty exciting paydays.

At first it was pretty exciting. After all, Matt was still a businessman who liked to listen to cold, hard cash. And everyone was buying. And by everyone, it was everyone. First, the neighbours on his left, uptight assholes who kept to themselves, came over and asked if he sold any of this Karmajuana they heard about. Then it was the moms. Trophy moms pushing strollers came right up to his door, looking straight out of a school board meeting, asking if he could set them up.

His fellow dealers he was on speaking terms with had stories of being approached by uniformed police officers, asking if they could BUY Karma off them. Then supply caught up and the demand never decreased. He heard stories of people like Ted, giving it away for free. It made no sense, money-wise.

The doorbell rang again. Because he had decent muscle memory and still knew where the door was, it didn’t take him so long to get there from the couch. He checked the window, sighed happily and opened the door.

“Hey, what’s up, James?” Matt asked to the long-haired skater holding his board in one hand. James was more of a friend than a customer although Matt wasn’t sure if James saw it that way.

“Nothing, man. Just bored,” replied James. Matt could smell the Karma on him but said nothing more. “Wanna smoke some Karma? Guy handing it out up at Abed’s.”

“Sure.” Matt shrugged. He didn’t say anything about Ted. They sat on the front step and watched the clouds go by as they smoke a Karma in silence.

“Hey James?” asked Matt, finally.

“Yeah?” drawled James.

“This Karma, it’s going to change the world isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“How?”

“I don’t know man, I don’t know. But everyone is just…chill. Downtown is dead. Ike’s, The Skate shop, the Tim’s, Starbuck’s, Value Village; they’ve all closed up. And that’s just this week. But there are tons of people all around, smoking and chilling. Nobody cares. The skate park is packed. Everyone is chilling.”

James said chilling way more than was necessary. If Matt was in a pissy mood he called him on it. However, today was not one of those days.

“Weird,” Matt finally told him of his experience with Ted and the cops earlier. “he said he was spreading a message.”

James leaned in confidentially and said in a lowered voice, “Some say this Karma is the reason why weed was finally legalized. Word is somebody got it onto Parliament Hill and got everyone high, even the Prime Minister; put it in the air conditioning or something.”

 “This shit killed the business,” reflected Matt, stubbing out the Karma on the front step.

Matt and James sat on the front porch and watched the clouds and people go by. They noticed the neighbours, many of them doing the same thing; sitting on their front porches, chilling. The smell of Karma was heavy in the air. James started humming a familiar tune. 

 “The times, they are-a changing.”  

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

   

Now as I read that, I can see there is still going to be another edit. But the changes should be relatively minor compared to the big changes I made between the two. I'm still not feeling all that great with James visiting and will probably try to tighten that up a little. But I wanted him to explain how many businesses are closing. As I write this, I'm wondering if it wouldn't be better to have Matt simply see the businesses closing himself, have him go visit Abed...

I like it a bit better as there is more dialogue. I need to make the 2nd half also more dialogue heavy. I thought having someone offer free Karma to a drug dealer was funny and a better example of how prevalent Karma is. Plus having a cop ask for some works better than Matt's exposition in the previous version. 

I also like ending it on the Bob Dylan lyric. 


Version 3 (1700 words)

T-5 Matt the Drug Dealer

It was just past two pm when Matt heard someone knocking on the door. He opened his eyes, found he was still on the couch, as he had been since last night.

Hardly anyone knocked on his door anymore. As a businessman, every knock on the door was an opportunity he couldn’t miss; such was the life of being a reputable and reliable pot dealer. He rose, stretched and shuffled to the door.

He opened it to yet another middle-aged white guy wearing a crisp white shirt and black tie. Off one shoulder hung a black backpack. He looked like a cop coming off a stake-out or going on vacation.

Matt sighed, knowing this guy would want the same thing all the others who came before him wanted; Karmajuana, the newest craze in drugs.

“Hey, how you doing?” the man asked, grinning as if Matt was already his best friend.

“What you want, dude?” Matt asked curtly.

“My name’s Ted. I’m going around, seeing if you want any Karma.”

“What?” Matt’s brow furrowed.

“You want any Karma?” Ted repeated.

“Karma? As in Karmajuana?”

“Yeah, I have lots,” Ted said, pulling off his backpack.

“How much?” Matt asked, for research purposes. After all, it is not every day he could compare prices with new dealers, especially before he broke their legs. He leaned inside his door, fingered the tip of his special Louisville Slugger baseball bat, used primarily for these situations.

“How much what?” Ted asked.

“How much you charge for say an eighth?”

“Charge?” he laughed, “No, man. I’m a Karmafarian. We don’t sell Karma, we give it away.”

“Who are you?” Matt was puzzled. He never heard of a Karmafarian. But then again Matt wasn’t one to keep up on current events, as was evident by his PS2 gaming system.

“I’m a Karmafarian, three weeks now.” He pointed to a small lapel pin on his breast pocket. It had a bowling pin which had nothing to do with anything from Matt’s perspective.

“I don’t get it. Why?” asked Matt.

“What?”

“Why you giving away Karma?”

“Because it’s Karma,” replied Ted, faltering as this wasn’t a script he had experience with, “What’s the confusion, Matt?”

“How do you know my name?” asked Matt, one hand grasping the Louisville, still hidden behind the door.

“Abed told me. He sent me here.”

“Abed? From the 7/11?” Matt knew Abed quite well. Abed sent customers to Matt in search of weed at 11pm. In return, Matt sent him a lot of business in the form of clients in search of munchies at 12am. Matt respected Abed’s minimum wage honesty and business ethics, much like Abed respected his.

“Yeah, he said you’re the guy to see about weed.”

“Yeah, but I don’t smoke it. I sell it. I sell all sorts of shit; Acapulco gold, prime Kush, wheelchair, skunk, Triple X, Triple Y. In fact, because of your Karma, I’m not selling shit anymore.”

“Great,” said Ted, “There you go. Karma isn’t shit.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Please, take some. It’s free. I am sure you know people who want it. It’s changing the world.”

He held out something that appeared to be a pack of cigarettes. There was a stylized K on the cover.

“Trust me. This will change your world. It’s completely non-addictive.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“No seriously.”

Behind them a cop car pulled up to the curb. Matt’s heart started racing. He recognized Officer Davis, one of the less friendly cops who always had a bead on for Matt.

“Hey, Ted, hey Matt,” he said, waving at the two of them as if they were all on respectful speaking terms.

“Hey Chris,” Ted replied, waving back. Matt took his hand off the Louisville and crossed his arms.

“Ted, I need more Karma,” yelled Officer Davis. 

“Sure,” said Ted, “No problem.” He turned to Matt and thrust a package the size of a cigarette carton in his hands. “Hold this, I’ll be right back.”

Matt looked down, saw it was a cigarette carton. There was a stylized K on the front, as he expected. It was Karmajuana, all branded and respectful.

Matt let out a deep breath. Shit was too confusing nowadays. He watched Ted approach the cop car, give Officer Davis a similar carton and then not be arrested. Instead, they shook hands. Ted said something to Officer Davis which made him look over at Matt.  

He called out to him, “Trust this guy, Matt. Karma is the way of the future. Way better than the crap you peddle.”

Matt raised one hand in acknowledgement. “Okay, thanks,” he called. He waited until Ted got in the passenger side of the cop car and left. He inspected the carton of Karma again.

He shrugged and tore it open.

An hour later, Matt was back on his couch when there was more knocking on his door. In the ashtray in front of him was the filtered butt end of a Karma. Since smoking it, Matt had been in his own personal state of Zen. Nothing mattered.

More knocking.

I’m coming, Matt thought, believing he had said it out loud.

In Matt’s mind he jumped from his second-hand couch to the front door in record time. However, in truth, it wasn’t in record time nor did he jump. Instead what he really did was slowly slide his legs off the couch like a half-full water balloon onto the floor and waited for the rest of his body to catch up.

It was only with supreme effort he stood and focused on where the door should have been and found it wasn’t there. He turned until he found it, right where it was supposed to be the first time. He shook his head. Part of being a reputable and reliable pot dealer was to never make a transaction while stoned.

I shouldn’t answer the door, he thought. I’m stoned out of my tree.

But that’s part of being in customer service, he argued. You need to answer the door. Our reputation is on the line.

“What reputation?” he said out loud, “Karma is something something…”

Good argument, man. This shit has fucked you up. Look at us, we never get stoned on …

Matt stopped, unsure what day of the week or what time it was.

Anyways, just saying perhaps you shouldn’t answer the door right now.

“Nah, man,” Matt said, “it’s all good. Trust me.”

He opened the door and laughed to see it was Jimmy, his best friend in a world of very few best friends to choose from.

“Jimmy!” he yelled.

Jimmy cocked his head at him, grinned.

“You’re fucking stoned, man.” Jimmy said.

Matt saw no reason to hide it. “Yep, sure as shit. Karma.”

“Me too.” Jimmy held out a pack of Karma. “Got it from some guy handing them out at Abed’s. Free.”

“Yeah, Ted.” Matt nodded. “Abed sent him here, gave me a full carton.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

The two said nothing for a few seconds, distracted by a couple of kids skating by.

“Hey you want to sit out here and chill?” asked Jimmy.

“Totally.” Matt said. They both sat on his front steps.

“You know, Jimmy,” began Matt, feeling his mouth form the words as his brain made them. “I don’t get it. I mean, sure this Karma is good but … it’s not special, you know what I mean? It’s just like, this fad, which will be gone next week. I’ve seen it so many times before.”

“Yeah,” agreed Jimmy but actually disagreeing, “but this time it is different. I mean, like there is major shit going down everywhere. People are quitting, stores are closing. A lot of people are just giving away their shit, like it means nothing to them anymore.”

“See?” That’s fucked up,” said Matt. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know man, I don’t know. I heard someone say it was because of Karma. Someone got into Parliament when they were discussing legalizing weed, got everyone high and next thing you know, boom - pot is legal.”

“Well it’s about fucking time but it’s going to kill off the small businessman, like myself.”

“Dude, since pot has legalized, the world has gone nuts. Everyone is just quitting their jobs and smoking weed.”

“I know. I have these neighbours who are complete uptight assholes. They’d come over and were always saying I was ruining the neighbourhood. Yesterday, they came over and asked if I could hook them up with some Karma, can you believe that?”

Jimmy shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”

“I mean, what the fuck is going on? Then there were these trophy moms, pushing strollers. Came right up to my door, looked straight out of a school board meeting. They asked if I could set them up. I mean, it’s just weed. And now there are guys like Ted, these Karmafarians who are just going door to door and giving it away for free? What’s the point in that?”

 Jimmy shrugged. The two of them sat on the front step and watched the clouds go, both lost in their own thoughts. Jimmy took out a Karma and lit it, took a drag and offered it to Matt.  

Matt took it. “Hey Jimmy?” he asked.

“Yeah?” drawled Jimmy.

“This Karma, it’s going to change the world isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I think so. It makes everyone just…chill. Downtown is dead. Ike’s, The Skate shop, the Tim’s, Starbuck’s, Value Village; they all closed. But there are tons of people all around, smoking and chilling. Nobody cares. The skate park is packed. Everyone is chilling.”

James said chilling way more than was necessary. If Matt was in a pissy mood he called him on it. However, today was not one of those days.

“Weird,” Matt finally said. “I mean, it’s just pot, right?”

Matt and Jimmy sat on the front porch and watched the clouds and people go by. They noticed the neighbours, many of them doing the same thing; sitting on their front porches, chilling. The smell of Karma was heavy in the air.

 “The times, they are-a changing.” Jimmy said.  

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

That works even better for me. I cut out most of the exposition and hopefully created a better feel of the environment. I changed third-hand couch to second-hand couch because it was an unusual phrase. I loved the joke/idea of the PM getting high but what with our current PM, I am sure there are plenty of people out there who wouldn't find that all that challenging of an idea, nor as a comment on the status quo. James has been changed to the much more friendly and laid-back Jimmy and the idea of a baseball bat helps round out Matt's character a bit more and have given Ted an out from the conversation. 

The spacing is out of whack but that is more because of the formatting from Word to Blogger. I will format the whole manuscript when I'm done the draft. 

Now I will save this and come back and look at it again when I'm finished the rest and given it time to simmer. Such is the glorifying life of a writer....

So if you read all this, thanks. Hope you took something away from it.

-jay