Instead, I choose to create my own. Fictional crises, that is.
I had an aha moment today. It happened as I wrote to a friend that I finished my book. And it whisked away my writer’s block. The moment was along the lines of: Aha! I do not have to keep the fifty pages of Elemental I’ve already written! Maybe that doesn’t sound like much of an aha moment to you, gentle viewer, but to me it felt like someone removed a very large hippopotamus from my shoulders.
Frankly, the fifty pages I have are trite, kind of boring, forced, and just sort of…bad. As much as it pains me to admit it, there it is. I started writing this morning, at–gasp–the beginning, and I’ve been like a gleeful child all day. It’s working, my friends. It really is. Part of it is that I outlined the entire novel the other day, and what I had just didn’t fit with the outline. I’m finding my groove. Don’t throw it off.
I’m happy to announce that in rewriting, I have already condensed sixteen pages where nothing much happened into five, where a few rather important things happen. So much better. I’m awash in a maelstrom of candy-coated joy.
Elemental is on the rise, complete with some very fun chapter names. I think you’ll like them. I hope you will. Onward and upward!
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