Ed is not a nice guy

 Yesterday I finished all the major revisions on my novel. I am awesome, I thought.

Then I got up this morning and crawled back to reality, picking glass out of my knees.

 I opened up Draft #342 and tore out Chapter Two. It had to be done. I’ve known it for awhile.  I made some coffee (if you can call Folgers coffee) and sat down to rewrite the introduction of my character Ed. I'll just have the tv on for background noise, my stupid brain told my stupid self. Two episodes of Supernatural later, I decided to go for a walk, write it in my head while absorbing vitamin d and the thick odor of Nehalem Bay. Two audiobook chapters later, I decided I’m addicted to other realities. Which is sad because mine’s not so bad. I mean, really, I spent my morning in leisure, the toughest decision revolving around walking on the beach or the bay. (True, I’ve been rocking a fever of 99 the past few days and feel like I’m hauling around lead, but I’m not dizzy or too fuzzy today.)

Anyhoo, here’s a tiny excerpt of my new chapter. Since it’s from chapter 2, introducing a new character voice, I’m not gonna’ worry about background information. I think you’ll get it. If you don’t, I didn’t do my job very well.

CHAPTER 2 B

            “Wait for me, Ass Hat!”

            “Watchyer mouth, kid,” Ed growled. He grabbed the cursing oaf, a gawky senior boy loping down the hall after his friends. The fifty-year old social studies teacher squeezed the back of the boy’s neck once, not gently, then thrust him away. The teen, surprised by the assault, almost knocked down two texting sophomores huddled by their lockers, probably texting each other. The boy straightened, turned as if to say something, then laid eyes on Ed’s ruddy, vein-laced cheeks, bulbous stomach, whistle necklace, and short-shorts. He shut his mouth and backpedaled, which made Ed grin sardonically, pleased at the response.

            “Sorry, Coach Nielson.”

            “I guess you are.”

The kid dashed away, tripping over his size thirteen Nikes until he hit his stride. Ed shook his balding head, leaned back against the wall outside his classroom, yelling, “No running in the halls!”

 Ass hat, he thought. I’ll have to remember that one. I know a few ass hats. His arched back and thick, nylon-clad hips crumpled a huge paper poster on the wall behind him. A poorly painted pirate yelled into the teacher’s well-endowed buttocks: OHS needs YOU! GO PIRATES!

Ed scratched the fringe of hair clinging to his red scalp, staring at the young bodies as they shot past on their way to the parking lot. The fact they all evaded eye contact made him feel powerful. Yeah, you fuckers better be afraid of me. I own you.

His hairy ears perked up as he heard a loud thump reverberate from Addison Taylor’s room across the hall . . .