Monday - again!

Why is it first thing in the morning all I can think of is my breakfast? Then afterward I feel so good that the idea of 'work' is repugnant.

< Sigh >

This actually explains quite a lot, doesn't it? Maybe schedules really do help people get things done.

Grr.

Fine.

A Twitter (NOT!)

So shall pen a few lines to (hopefully) put me in the flow for finishing Adam's chapter. Not so easy as you might think, even though I did some concrete reasoning last night.

This morning, I have a persistent Bagheera on my lap, and a deadly 'Oh, who cares?' attitude, which believe me, is more fatal than a cat who won't leave the pen alone. I can work around a sweet purr-cat, but when I've got nothing in my brain and no wish to pull out what's there … things look grim indeed.

Clarity at night -- OR Later the same day

Huh. 8.30, and I'm in bed. What a wonderful way to spend your 'Friday' night. I must admit, though, it's pretty nice to lie here and realize I don't have to make myself believe something impossible anymore, that I'm done for the day. Very wearing, to every few seconds keep forcing yourself to think what you innately count as false.

That's quite an obtuse, wordy sentence, but I'll let you work it out on your own.

So I guess I need to figure out how Adam's revelations should work out. In this chapter, he's thinking about Leslie, about her selling the farm, how she brought up the subject of his dead wife Renee (so he's also thinking about her). He's comforting Emma, (who's scared at the loud thunder), which would also remind him of Renee. But he's also thinking about how many changes he's had in his life lately and he doesn't want more (i.e., Leslie selling the Martin place). Which (seems to me) would lead to his relishing time with his daughter, and how he wants to protect her, and keep their world safe. WHICH IS ADAM'S MAIN STORY GOAL, WHICH NEEDS TO BE STATED UP FRONT, WHICH IT IS. Which he doesn't get to achieve, but that's another story -- in fact, it is the story.

Leslie's main story goal is to find a home for herself (she hopes in her dream condo), but she doesn't achieve that either.

A writer's jitters

Spent a restless night. In fact I've been on tenterhooks for days, though I don't really know why.

I was writing about Adam the other day, about his feelings for his daughter Emma, and I just kept feeling more and more that something was wrong. That maybe she would have needed fed at this point in the story, or she could be put back in her crib and Adam 'take the story' downstairs, as it were. But anyway, my Inner Editor kept yelling 'Something's not right!' -- but I don't know what isn't right! All I know is I'm being yelled at, and it's got me so wound up I can't do anything. Typing in the stuff about killed me, but I did it.

And I would love to be able to clean it up and send it out for an opinion, but I am frankly scared to. I keep imagining all the other things that 'could' be said, and I don't want to hear them again either.

So I guess the only way to deal with this situation is to face it. Clean up the chapter, finish it, and send it off. Then just go on from there.

I need to face this fear.

A historian's thrill

Did some research on religious background for Scotney Castle (a new story idea I have). I had forgotten that the Avignon Papacy, the Great Schism and John Wycliffe were all at about the same time. This, with the deeply pious Henry V coming along just afterwards, is completely understandable, and even a little exciting to this Moody Bible Institute alum.

But I'm not sure what ramifications (if any) it will have for Annette (my main character).

Dull and tired

Sitting, waiting, in a parking lot again -- Wal-Mart this time. At least it's not Rural King, so WSMI isn't blaring in my ear.

Been a pretty stupid day. I'm tired and run down from going to Alton Square yesterday. Kind of strange to contemplate about that trip. I prayed so specifically that I'd be able to order that chair and be able to pick it up at the store, and it worked out exactly as I asked (except, of course, for the price!) It makes me wonder whether I could do that more often -- get precisely what I ask for -- like with writing. And you know, it might work out that I could ... so long as I actually do the work, and not just sit at my computer playing stupid games.

Or even if I work on a story instead of scribble in The Pensieve ... as I'm doing now. Sheesh! My rationalization for now is that my head hurts too much to think. (So what else is new?) I really wonder sometimes if I should find some way to disconnect those games.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow when my head doesn't hurt.

SIGH Tomorrow when I'll be all by myself. Ed's traveling to DeKalb tomorrow at noon for a 1-day 911 Training class; he'll be back Monday night.