Previous updates of this piece of work :
I reached 50K Monday night! I’m so proud of myself. I was kind of worried early in the month that I wouldn’t make it, despite being way ahead since day 2, because I wasn’t sure if I could get out of a hole I was in where I was writing in circles. It was a weird place in the narrative. I’m glad I was in a spot where I had to write every day and write over a thousand words a day to get through it. I did think I’d be further in the story by now. But I did get through Monmouth which was a huge milestone. I wanted to be at the end of Part 3 which will end with a duel- you’ve listened to Hamilton, you know.
I wrote some fun parts in the last week, including this part which is completely historically inaccurate but I thought of it a while ago, and I thought it would be funny. Basically, in the Chernow biography, it is discussed that Alexander Hamilton had a friend back home who came to the United States before he did to become a doctor and they looked so much alike it was weird considering they “weren’t related.” However, if I’m remembering the research right, they didn’t cross each other’s paths in the US until way later. But sometimes you need to sacrifice historical accuracy for comedy.
In this particular moment, John is waking from being shot, which I included in my last NaNo update, and this happens:
His side was on fire when John started to blink awake. He could feel a tight a bandage around his midsection. He was laying on hay filled mattress in an unfamiliar room. He wanted to scream but didn’t have the energy. The door creaked opened and there stood Alexander, but something wasn’t quite right about him. He seemed taller, his eyes the shade wrong of blue, his hair more blond than red, but when he spoke there was no mistaking his strange mix of accents.
“You’re awake! How are you feeling.”
“I’m on fire,” John answered. “It hurts.”
“I’m going to take a look at the wound make sure it’s not infected.”
He reached toward the bandage and John wacked his hand away.
“How long was I out?”
“About eighteen hours, I have to check the wound.”
“Eighteen hours is not long enough to go to medical school,” John tried to wiggle away, grabbing at Alexander’s wrist to keep him from touching his injuries.
“You’re right,” he chuckled. “It takes more than eighteen hours of study, but I assure you I know what I’m doing.”
“You’re not a doctor!” John yelled.
“I assure you I am, Mister Laurens.”
“You didn’t even finish law school, you’re not a doctor. Don’t touch me!”
“Hey, calm down.” Someone grabbed at John’s toes. He looked down confused toward the end of the bed. A second Alexander, one with the right colored eyes and darker hair stood with a panicked look on his face.
“Son of a bitch,” John whispered pressing his head onto the pillows beneath him. “I’m dead. I’ve died and this is hell.”
The second part I would like to share is an exchange between John and his father a little later in the narrative which I found hilarious, but I enjoy jokes about death. As a quick history note, historical John Laurens just kept getting stabbed and shot in, like, every major battle until the war ended and then one stuck- again you’ve listened to Hamilton, you know.
For a bit of context, I’m not 100% sure if it’s true, but in my version of events, Hamilton and Laurens have been writing the “your significant other was injured in battle” letters, so Henry Laurens has received multiple letters written by Hamilton saying John’s been shot or bayonetted or what have you.
“I know you don’t much care for my friends, but they are great men. Leaders every one of them. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted from me?”
“I’ve wanted you to succeed, yes,” Mr. Laurens answered. “I’m simply worried about you. I feel like I’m waiting for the letter from Hamilton that says you didn’t make it.”
“I promise you, Alexander will not write you that letter. General Washington writes the killed in action letters himself.”
“I’m not time to be funny, John.”
“I’m sorry, Father.”
Sometimes I write things I think, “I’m a comedic genius” and I sent the passage to Jen and she says “why is this funny?” and I don’t know how to explain my weird sense of humor to her, the above was one of those passages.
I still have a ways to go in this story, it’s July 1778 and I have until September 1782 to write. Someone has to go to France for a hot minute, someone else has to fall in love and marry a lovely lady in, like, a month’s time, Yorktown has to happen and someone I have grown the love more than a person should ever love a real-life person who died 204 years before they were born, must die. But it’s been a lovely ride that I hope someday I get to share with more people than just Best Friend Jen.
How did you’re NaNo project go? I hope you hit all your goals and exceeded all expectations!
Until next time Internet,