It's strange how this writing thing works. Yesterday, I got an idea for the timeline/plotline of the novel that finally brought me to satisfaction that, yes, all the plot elements are now in the order I want them, at least enough to satisfy me. Today, I start working bringing all those butterflies floating around the room, and pinning them in the right cages. Does this mean I'm done with story ideas? Hell no. Does this mean everything has been finalized? Hell no. On both counts, "Hell no" means "I certainly hope not", because otherwise that would mean I'm dry. And just because I have a skeletal structure doesn't mean I've got a working body. But now I've got to focus on the details, adding the muscle and arteries and fun stuff like that.
Labels: Black Hole Son