Follow the white rabbit.
Am I the only one who sees the beginning of the first Matrix movie now and smiles fondly, thinking that the Wachowskis telegraphed everything in the first ten minutes? I can’t be. Still, it makes me happy to see that now, it’s a storyteller’s ruse.
Happy St. George’s Eve, everyone. (St. George’s Day.) Tonight’s the night vampires are most traditionally active. Look for blue glows over caches of buried treasure, but beware of wolves. And, you know, razor-licking Wallachian noblemen. Of course, if they’re Gary Oldman, that’s all right, right?
Today I sink back into the Ripper book, making it pretty for first-draft round. If I can get that done and sent off this week (bit early, but that’s good) I can turn my focus to Ruby’s book. I’m going to have to trust that she knows what she’s doing, that her story will come along as it needs to. Trusting the work is an ongoing process, and one I don’t know I’ll ever fully catch the hang of.
So, yeah. I am nervous about following that particular rabbit down the hole. I have a very foggy idea of what the story entails, but it doesn’t feel like enough. What would feel like enough, I wonder? The books never end up where you think they will, they never grow quite as they appear ready to, and by the end one has grown or shrunk with little control over the process.
No wonder we’re all mad here.