This is the eighth chapter of my month-long work of fiction, NOV.
This is a game Frank could kick butt at anytime, anyplace. As he watches it, he can’t help but want to play it. The cards seem to be thesaurus extracts: each has several related words on it. Frank can see that the aim is to make sets of two or more cards that have words with sequences of two or more letters in common. He can see it because he glances at the cards and sees gaps, invisible spaces, and Walter is grouping them together. Frank’s graphemic dislocation, his mental hiccup, is made for this. As long as it’s only gapping one set of letters at a time.
In fact, it’s beginning to bug him, how much Walter is missing. He wants to step in and do it. Look, INV—BLE, CONC—ON, D—NTERESTED, PAR—AN. Lay it down! Is there something you can’t see? Or is the problem exactly that there’s nothing you can’t see? Continue reading