Writing Hurts

Hello, blog. I’ve missed you.

I spent the month of August in a whirlwind of rewrites, costuming, working, and preparing for convention. Mostly, I just mean costuming and working. I quit VEDA because I just didn’t have time to film and edit videos.

Convention was decent. I went to some cool panels, saw my friends, wore my Gris Grimly dress and garnered a ton of compliments (even from Gris Grimly himself by way of Tweet), and came home exhausted to find we had company. I returned with concrud, or the cold that’s been going around at work. I’ve been shot-gunning Day and NyQuil.

I’ve been “on” for the last week and a half.

I used all my stored extrovert energy on the convention. I had nothing left. I nearly had a nervous breakdown at work on Friday. I recovered.

I still have a cold and breathing hurts.

THE KILLING TYPE will be done in 20 chapters, give or take. I started this rewrite in… what? March? I convinced myself that I’d only be editing. I said I’d be done in July. Then in August.

Remember when I accidentally deleted the entire file and I was so mad at myself?

I was mad at myself for being stupid enough to lose the entire file, not because my book was gone. Realizing I didn’t care about the content took a very long time. Now that book really is gone. I scrapped everything. There’s barely a shred of what used to be my book left in this draft.

I took my rewrite hard, though. False starts, negative critiques from my CP, eventually clawing my way through. I’m 20 chapters from the end. 60k to go. It’s all downhill, and this morning I had one of those clear-as-day visions about my ending. I know.

Things fell into place. Character development, plotlines, interconnecting issues and cyclical storylines. I love a good full-circle narrative.

Somehow, it’s September and it’s time for this book to wrap up. I have enthusiastic CPs cheering me on. That doesn’t make it any less difficult. Sometimes the words come easy. I love those days. My Nyquil haze made writing the near-sex scene so much easier. Other days, I feel like I’m trying to tear my way through from the inside out.

I spoke about writing and process with people at DragonCon. I got excited about my own work and my vision. I keep hearing Delilah in the back of my head (or Criminy, from Wicked as They Come) saying that easy things are worth nothing.

This is hard, and scary, and uncertain. I’m operating on the Spider-Web Theory: writing linearly, jumping to a scene I’m excited about and connecting the bits back together. I’m scuttling around my narrative.

I’m clearing out of the cold medicine fog and I going to finish this book, one word at a time.

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