Well, here we are, on the verge of a New Year, releasing the old and making way for the new, and so on and on.
I find myself staring down my current WiP, 27 Stages and trying to get the next chapter to unfold. Or, rather, I'm trying to get the current chapter to wind up so I can move on to the next chapter. This is the sort of thing writers deal with on occasion, I suppose: stubborn words, stubborn images, etc.
You see, it's not that I don't have more to write for this story. The problem lies in the fact the images which are coming to mind fall into one of the following categories:
a) They aren't from the chapter I'm presently attempting to complete.
b) They have little – if anything – to do with the story I'm working on.
c) They would be better placed in another part of the manuscript.
d) They almost certainly won't survive the final cut, and their inclusion in this manuscript would muddy the waters more than is strictly necessary.
And so I sit, type out a little, backspace over it and start over. Repeat. Repeat again.
Then I pack it in, frustrated until another idea comes to mind and I open the WiP and make another attempt. GrrrrrRRRrrrrr…
Federico and Abby are still there, demanding my attention, speaking up at the most inopportune times and making me wish I had the ability to write directly out of my subconscious onto the document on the computer.
My focus is wonky, refusing to clarify and permit me to slip into 27 Stages' world again for more than a few moments at a time. I need to rest, but as soon as I do something else, the voices are loud and clear, but they only remain so as long as the computer is off and the WiP is out of reach.
But there's good news, too. Last night, I dreamed of a race. I dreamed I spent time talking with the riders, but Federico wasn't there for me. I caught glimpses of him, but he wouldn't look my way. I reckon he will before long.
I sought Abby in the crowd before the dreamscape shifted and changed, taking me somewhere else. Hopefully next time she'll join me for a few minutes. We have a lot to talk about.
One thing is certain: I miss our chats.
On a pleasing note: I sold a copy or two of Ask Me if I'm Happy on the Kindle recently. At least, I know of a couple of purchases, and they led to an upward swing from 229,283 all the way up to 95,961 in just two days. I'll take that for the time being.
Now if I could just find a way to get Amazon to quit saying the book isn't available when it is, I'd be in "business"…
I find myself staring down my current WiP, 27 Stages and trying to get the next chapter to unfold. Or, rather, I'm trying to get the current chapter to wind up so I can move on to the next chapter. This is the sort of thing writers deal with on occasion, I suppose: stubborn words, stubborn images, etc.
You see, it's not that I don't have more to write for this story. The problem lies in the fact the images which are coming to mind fall into one of the following categories:
a) They aren't from the chapter I'm presently attempting to complete.
b) They have little – if anything – to do with the story I'm working on.
c) They would be better placed in another part of the manuscript.
d) They almost certainly won't survive the final cut, and their inclusion in this manuscript would muddy the waters more than is strictly necessary.
And so I sit, type out a little, backspace over it and start over. Repeat. Repeat again.
Then I pack it in, frustrated until another idea comes to mind and I open the WiP and make another attempt. GrrrrrRRRrrrrr…
Federico and Abby are still there, demanding my attention, speaking up at the most inopportune times and making me wish I had the ability to write directly out of my subconscious onto the document on the computer.
My focus is wonky, refusing to clarify and permit me to slip into 27 Stages' world again for more than a few moments at a time. I need to rest, but as soon as I do something else, the voices are loud and clear, but they only remain so as long as the computer is off and the WiP is out of reach.
But there's good news, too. Last night, I dreamed of a race. I dreamed I spent time talking with the riders, but Federico wasn't there for me. I caught glimpses of him, but he wouldn't look my way. I reckon he will before long.
I sought Abby in the crowd before the dreamscape shifted and changed, taking me somewhere else. Hopefully next time she'll join me for a few minutes. We have a lot to talk about.
One thing is certain: I miss our chats.
On a pleasing note: I sold a copy or two of Ask Me if I'm Happy on the Kindle recently. At least, I know of a couple of purchases, and they led to an upward swing from 229,283 all the way up to 95,961 in just two days. I'll take that for the time being.
Now if I could just find a way to get Amazon to quit saying the book isn't available when it is, I'd be in "business"…
RSS Feed
