The Reaper, the Universe, and the Sub-conscious
I’m a little late today, but almost didn’t post so we should all take tardy over absent, right? I’m not sure if I’ll make the entire rounds this week either. I’m heading out of town Friday morning and won’t be back until Sunday night. Tonight is grocery shopping, tomorrow packing and some plan-ahead cooking… That means limited fun computer time for moi. But I’m confident the rest of you can carry on quite admirably without me. Plus, I’ll tell the monkeys to keep an eye on things while I’m gone. You don’t want to cross the monkeys. They’re getting a bit stir crazy. Winter and all.
For today, I give you four paragraphs from The Adorned for the 4th day of the month. This follows after one of the other WIPpets I posted at some point. I know, I’ve been jumping around with this one like a frog on a hot road, but I only have a little over 10k written, so I hunt and peck for tasty morsels that won’t give too much away. **Author’s note: Kudos to the Shakespeare Insult Kit pinned to my cork board. Most likely not historically accurate, but oh-so-handy.**
“Gods of the damned!” Roe jerked away, skittering out from between him and the wall, scrubbing at her arm. “What did you do? What the–” Her eyes stretched open to the point of near painful. “Oh no. No. Oh you clouted crook-pated whoreson. You’re a speller. Mithylmis protect me, you’re a spawned from the dark speller.” She threw her arms up, pounded away, then back again, fists on her hips. “That just–that– you– It explains it. That–oh sweet mothers. I should’ve known. No wonder. Now I know. I’m surprised Tuter didn’t out and out kill me. Or Pip. And how is it everyone in the city knows? Everyone but me. Slow on the take again, Gild Fingers, that’ll get you dustman sure as anything. You couldn’t have said? Couldn’t have told me right off?”
“Would you have aided me had I said such?”
She stared at him. “You are thicker than Jesperanna’s thews. No one. No. One. In this city. Not even me. Would knowingly help a speller.”
“Then it is for the best I am not one.”
Don’t you feel like you just fell down the rabbit hole?
Now, an explanation on my [insert crappy mood] from last week. Just because I hate to throw things like that out there and leave people wondering.
Here’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
As you may or may not know, EoD has been soundly kicking my ass. Despite knowing where I wanted to go with it, how I was going to get there, how it began, how it ended, AND having well over ninety thousand blood-soaked words on the virtual paper — it was painful. Not bad writing. Possibly not even bad story-telling. Just somehow…wrong. And I couldn’t pin-point the where or the how of it no matter how many times I re-read it.
Truthfully, I probably could have just powered through to The End and sent it to my betas. Who knows, they may have enjoyed it. May have told me how wonderful it was. And maybe it is. Maybe it’s not as bad as I think it is. The problem comes from the very fact that I’m even thinking it’s bad. I wasn’t enjoying writing it. Not one bit. Working on it was torture. Every time I opened the file, I felt like I was pushing a mountain up a hill. It irritated me on so many levels–and when that irritation started creeping into other aspects of my life I knew something had to be done. Because when the hubby tells you a friend of his wants a signed copy of Book One, you should not practically came unhinged. People wanting books is a Good Thing. Not a reason to snap and snarl. But I did because–well, several reasons, but basically it all boiled down to Book Three being a cantankerous bastard and holding up several plans for the completion and marketing of the entire trilogy. PLUS holding me back from working on other projects.
Then, I got this crazy idea. An inkling, really. I did not want to get too close. Didn’t want to look it in the eye. Like when you cut yourself, and you refuse to look at the wound because you know when you do the pain is going to hit. The reality of seeing your own blood and your skin sliced open is going to churn your stomach. By refusing to look, it doesn’t exist. Or, at least it’s not as bad. Even if your finger is floating in the chili.
Ugh. Where’d that come from?
So, getting back to my long-winded crappy mood explanation–I threw my idea at the Universe and my Sub-conscious and went to bed.
Bad idea, that. I really wouldn’t recommend doing it on a regular basis.
However, they came through. When I woke up on Wednesday last week, they presented me with exactly what I needed to do. They confirmed my inkling.
I didn’t like it. Not one. Little. Tiny. Bit. But, I felt like it was the right thing. At least, I hope so. One takes an enormous risk throwing things to the U & S.
I started completely over.
Yes. There you have it. I opened a new file, renamed it, began anew.
First I created two pages of plot noodling, which is as close to actual plotting as this pantser gets. There are some bits from the original I can still use. Maybe 10k or so worth of scenes and words. But overall? I slaughtered darlings. Oh, so. Many. Darlings. And it hurt. Bad.
But now, a week later–
Yeah, it still hurts. And I still second-guess myself. But I have nearly 20k written and I rather like what’s happening. So far my characters are being well-behaved. That tells me they’re happy with what’s going on. For now. And who knows, maybe I can take all those words I shoved into the Obsolete file and recycle them as a freebie in between novel.
*blinks some more*
I think I’m still in denial.
And there you have it. The reason for my funk. Hopefully the cure as well.
As the Awesome Newfinese Kate Sparkes says, “Don’t fear the rewrite!” In whose honor you get…
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