These days, I've been writing and rewriting a lot. I'm finding that process to involve a lot of cutting and crumpling. Here's a sliver of something that is being nixed from the draft of my graphic novel:
In an empty lab down the hall, the fume hood coughed. You went to investigate and found, propped up, an abandoned whiteboard. A technician who left years prior had scrawled a well-wishing note. The handwriting matched the labels of the tube boxes in the back of the freezer.
The ink was surely stained, you thought, as you picked up the spray bottle of seventy percent ethanol and unleashed a halo of damp kaleidoscopes.
You exerted yourself to obtain the black slate. You wanted that board. Think and erase. You would make a project design incapable of falling flat.
The clocks snaked into the wall. It was time for lab meeting. The floor thrummed. A major grant deadline loomed and research personnel were crazed like young bucks during the rut. When hormones and season coalesce, the animals don’t know whether to mount or suckle their mothers. Interstate roadkill ticked up and hunters fell trophies during the frenzy. Do wild rats have a mating season? The animals in the vivarium didn’t have windows. Clean bedding and new pouches of water constituted the changes. No fluttering leaves or whisking wind.