The writer at his works
Mar. 25th, 2011 12:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceHow this is ever, ever going to put food in the boys' bowls, I do not know.
This novel I am writing? Went on pause, just a chapter from its climax, when I went to California. That wasn't planned, it just worked out that way. And so of course I failed to make any notes about said climax or the build-up to it; and so when I came back to the book three weeks later, I had entirely forgotten where we were going or why. (Literally so: the protagonist was heading off somewhere to some purpose, but I couldn't remember what.)
So I have reread the whole book, and I do at least have a better idea of it as a whole. Her specific errand, though? Still a mystery. I walked into town this morning trying to think, trying to recover what I had thought before, failing in both directions. Sat down here in the Silence Room and mooched around on the internets, upgraded my Ubuntu installation, contacted Virgin about my phone, so on and so forth. Evasive manoeuvres, you know the sort of thing. Checked the news.
And then I started writing. Sent her off in a whole new direction, literally and figuratively; set her up for a horrible shock when she gets there, the possible betrayal of everything that has come before; still have no idea how to get from there to any kind of climax. Or no, not "still": even more so than before. None of this was planned, intended or reckoned for. What am I thinking...?
Four hungry eyes accuse me of gambling with their supper. And I'm not even home, damn it...
This novel I am writing? Went on pause, just a chapter from its climax, when I went to California. That wasn't planned, it just worked out that way. And so of course I failed to make any notes about said climax or the build-up to it; and so when I came back to the book three weeks later, I had entirely forgotten where we were going or why. (Literally so: the protagonist was heading off somewhere to some purpose, but I couldn't remember what.)
So I have reread the whole book, and I do at least have a better idea of it as a whole. Her specific errand, though? Still a mystery. I walked into town this morning trying to think, trying to recover what I had thought before, failing in both directions. Sat down here in the Silence Room and mooched around on the internets, upgraded my Ubuntu installation, contacted Virgin about my phone, so on and so forth. Evasive manoeuvres, you know the sort of thing. Checked the news.
And then I started writing. Sent her off in a whole new direction, literally and figuratively; set her up for a horrible shock when she gets there, the possible betrayal of everything that has come before; still have no idea how to get from there to any kind of climax. Or no, not "still": even more so than before. None of this was planned, intended or reckoned for. What am I thinking...?
Four hungry eyes accuse me of gambling with their supper. And I'm not even home, damn it...