No Instruction Book
No, it’s not about any of the things I usually worry about. It’s about the current Valentine book. It just starts off with such an explosion, and I’m wondering if I can keep the intensity on and not have the book turn into a caricature of itself. Perhaps a small breather is needed. Like maybe putting Dante so down she can’t pick a fight with her lover OR her friends.
Good effin’ luck, Lili. How did I end up with such an intransigent character? (Monk might point out that it’s only what I deserve, being a fairly stubborn character myself.) We’re at about 30K, cobbled together bips and baps from other drafts of the damn book, and already I’m at the point of almost-sick-of-the-book; a point I don’t usually get to until the first draft is finished and the beta readers have hunt-and-pecked. Part of it is I am flying blind, none of the characters will tell me what happens next. So as a result, I end up picking over old stuff (Smoke and Mirror, actually, I need to write Avatar so I can have the damn thing out of my head, aaarrrgggghhhh! Pirate moment.) and finally closing down the laptop with precious little to show for all my poking.
It’s enough to make any self-respecting writer throw in the towel on a Sunday afternoon, call Monk, and say “I’m going to Stonehenge. Want to come along?”
Which of course he did, along with the Froopie, who needed a break from the work week too. The DHM was visiting grandparental units with the Prince and the Princess, which freed me for a two-hour drive up the Gorge. The very best part of sunset happened while we were at the henge–the last fading glow of day sinking behind the tooth of a mountain, the sky jewel-toned between the indigo overhead and the rosiness in the distance, an evening star eventually peeping through the veil of night to whisper the rest of the stars into being. The wind flirted with my hair–tangled from driving with the windows all the way down–and the drive back went so quickly I was almost sad to turn up the exit to home.
Since I got a bit of sun I should feel tanned, rested, and ready to twist Dante’s arm until she gives me a little something more to work with. But I’m not holding my breath. She holds up well under torture, that one. I could threaten her with another first-person POV character, but I’m not sure about the messiness that would ensue and frankly the book’s going to be messy enough with everything I have planned.
Eh. Nobody told me, when I started writing, that characters have a mind of their own. In retrospect I should have demanded to read the warning label and instruction book.
Except, of course, that there isn’t any.
Damn.
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