I haven’t been keeping up with my end of the bargain and writing 1000 words per day the last few days. Beginning Saturday, I think. So that puts me about 3,000 behind. Bugger.
I have been feeling a bit under the weather, partly due to my neck injury, but if I can manage to watch half a season of X-Files, surely I can manage to pitter-pat my fingers on a keyboard, no? I’ve been a wee bit blocked. Partly because I am overwhelmed with excitement of going back to Scotland at long last. Also because I was waiting for a couple more things with my plot to click into place, which as of now I think they have. One of my character’s motivations were a little fuzzy, but she ended up doing something that completely clears up that mess and provides a nice background for one of her future exploits — one, I might add, that I really wish she’d reconsider, even though I know she won’t.
Writing strong characters is an interesting thing. The best characters to me are the ones who bulldoze me into telling their stories, which is exactly what happened with many of the ones in this trilogy. It’s like I’m minding my own business, walking down the street one day, and suddenly I get a 2×4 to the head. I don’t really mind in all the concussion; they make my job a bit easier when I just feverishly jot down everything they say and do. They don’t even care if we get published. As long as I tell their stories, they’re more or less content.
I think every writer is just an eensy bit schizophrenic. Maybe that’s why I’m an introvert — I have enough people in my head trying to get me to write them down to deal with the rest of the world all the time.
Hush, don’t worry. I’m kidding.
But mostly kidding.
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