DAY 1: I have officially met my word count goal for the day, with 1,690 words, beating the NaNoWriMo goal by just 23 words. I feel fairly accomplished, although I feel I don’t have a very good outline or idea of where I want my story to go. However, I guess that can come later; write now, it’s all about the writing! Yay for accomplishing goals!!
10:20 a.m. | Locke for President Headquarters, New York, NY
“Mr. Lanser? You have a Mr. Seymour who’s here to see you.” Harley Lanser’s secretary phoned into his office.
Harley Lanser made a deep sigh, cleared a few papers off his desk, gulped down the few remaining swallows of bourbon in his Tiffany tumbler, and initiated the speaker.
“Send him in.”
A few seconds later, a bookish-looking man in his thirties, attired in a dress shirt and tasteful argyle sweater vest, armed with a brown leather briefcase with a tan trench coat on his arm, walked into the vast office of the Locke for President campaign manager’s office.
Seymour made a few steps forward, shifted his coat and briefcase to his left hand, and extended his other to Lanser with a genuine smile on his face. When Lanser didn’t stand up and reciprocate, Seymour’s face turned slightly sour as he took a seat in front of Lanser’s desk.
“What’s it gonna take?” Harley broke the awkward-for-Seymour silence.
“Excuse me, sir? I’m not sure I follow,” said Seymour.
“Bill, let’s not mince words here,” Harley said briskly. “The candidate” – as Harley tended to speak of Locke when trying to distance him or speak of him in non-personal tones – “is willing to make some, ah, concessions, to keep this story of yours under wraps. Both the candidate and I, and I’m sure you do as well, understand the consequences this could have for the campaign. As such…”
“Mr. Lanser, with all due respect,” Seymour interrupted, “this story is going to go to press with or without Mr. Locke’s consent. Legal has looked over this story a dozen times, all of the sources have check out, and to be frank, I’m here purely as a courtesy to you.”