Holy wow, time has passed and I have had a horrible two months of excessive unpleasant overwhelming work. No time for life. Stress and all that.
I finally made it to my writing group tonight. We did a writing exercise in which we wrote a character sketch with the aim of portraying a sense of who the character was primarily through sensory description. This what I wrote:
Kevin stood in the doorway, poised with his weight on one leg, uncommitted to enter, already, one imagines, on his way down the hall. This was as much as could be hoped for -- a moment of pause, a dry observation intoned nasally, delivered with a wicked hook disguised as humour. Then down the hall he'd go, as quiet as a big cat, taut as a bicep, moving as if he were invisible, as if his steroid-built body was hidden by the Indian cotton shirt, as if there was not an electric four inches of impenetrable air space between him and anyone else passing down the hallway.
Okay -- one paragraph. That's a start.