This writing life….full of flighty imagination, resistant characters, fumbling dialogue. I search for what I need to say, must say. My plot goes off onto some shadowy hole leaving me with an angry loss. The hero refuses to cooperate, the victims pathetic, the antagonist behaves like a fool. I can’t decide which town they all shall live in….
I am fighting the urge to toss the mess into the cyber-grave and start over. This novel, a disjointed twisted bit of nanowrimo, must have been written by my other self..or selves. For it seems to be unwilling to ‘fit’ together, no matter what manner of literary duct tape I attempt to fling upon it.
It matters. A great deal. I have made this promise to myself. This year. This month. To do what I have fidgeted over for years. Edit the novels that mumble to me from beneath the shelves in my office study. They will not shut up. They have not “shut the heck up” since 2006 when I began those Hell-stints each November.
I have challenges in place. Accountability set up with my writer self…and my agreement to my daughters to honor my passion. To do this thing that seems so easy …and so very hard at the same time. I love the mechanics of writing. I love the way this voice rises up to my brain, spinning thoughts of vast mystery and complex characters. I love the feeling that I am NOT getting older, or senile, or unable to tell my stories.
I love that I MUST do this. I love that I CAN do this.
So today, while it was a vicious, pitiful few hours wrangling with tangled ideas in a world that I long to tell you about~ tomorrow I shall anchor myself again at the desk and unravel those knots.
I love this writing life~