Spent most of this labor day weekend nursing a head cold and taking care of a cranky baby who goes totally nuts when daddy is home. And she's only 18 months old.
I did get a good amount of writing done though. Not as much as a real writer would have done on a labor day weekend, but I got off work early and instead of going home, spent the time in a coffee shop writing on my laptop ( sorry Mr. Scalzi). I made it past page 100 this weekend (out of 258), and I'm through the first act. But now it gets much harder - lots more composing instead of revising from this point on. Some might say it's bad to be composing at this stage of the game, but I'm really restructuring. But restructuring means you've got to reset the joints where the beams are held.
I'm not looking forward to it. I'm afraid of composing. I'm afraid ideas won't be there. I'm afraid it'll turn out dry, sparse, or incompatible with the current writing style. I'm afraid it'll sound like a dry technical manual. When you're composing, anything can happen or nothing can happen. Stories can drift off into incomprehensible tangents. They can shoot to the moon, and you need to lasso it back down. That's your job.
Labels: Black Hole Son