The Curse of Actually Writing

You have the story.

You’ve plotted. Either, to a point that you have everything written down that’s going to happen in every chapter, ever paragraph, ever conversation that needs to happen.

Or you’re better off winging it, and so it’s just the general idea of what’s happening—you know, it’s starting here at A and its gonna end up at D, with the rest of the letters in there somewhere, if they managed to get there.

Just ‘cause you like the idea of it happening in the story, doesn’t mean the characters will get there, but you’re okay with that.

 

You characters are chatting away inside your brain. You know so much about them you don’t think anything will surprise you / it won’t surprise you…?—okay, I’m the second type of writer, so I not actually sure what it’s like for the first type, I just know there out there (JR Ward is one)

 

You have the place where it’s all happening. The idea of what it looks like. The idea of where there going. The house it’s all happening in, the lake, the car, the elevator—you know the drill.

 

You are so excited that you’ve practically vibrated your fingers off.

 

Then, you sit down at your computer and you start, and man, does it take for-fucking-ever.

 

I’m more than sure this isn’t something that just happens to me.

 

The point is, in your head the story doesn’t particularly flow in order. It doesn’t for me, I have thoughts come to me for three chapters away, and I just have to get them there. to that point so I can write it, but three chapters is a lot of words that you have to get through before you get to the point your craving to write, and then you get there and…well, it’s over, that excitement. That need to see it. To write about it. Because you’re already another chapters away. Your minds already thinking about something else.

Or it’s going over that crap you just thrown together to get to this point, and so much of it’s all kinds of wrong.

 

It’s what’s happening to me at the moment with Moonlit Wolves #6: Rub of my Werewolf.

I have been waiting to write this book since I started up the series and got my first look at Gene. He’s a part of me more than any other character out there—and he’s kinda way off.

He’s the part that talks way too much. That part that needs to know everything that’s going around, and the one that can read a book, watch TV and plotting at the same time. and still remember what’s happening in every one of them.

Hell. There are times I’ll talk to the Defacto about what’s just happened on the show he’d making me watch and he won’t have a fucking clue what I’m going on about.

I’m NOT FUCKING WATCHING IT WITH MY WHOLE ATTENTION and I know what’s happening better than he does.

 

So, busy mind. That’s me. But it’s a curse as well as a blessing. Because like my sister say, I’m five conversation ahead of my mouth, or everyone else.

I think, though, it’s a Gemini thing, because mum’s the same.

 

Back on topic, I’m sitting down, writing the story, and I have this bit figured out. I know what’s about to happen, I’m waiting for it, because once I get to this point I can have Gene and Dan meet again with a Gosh Golly part and then the romance can start. But I’ve just gotta get him there, and it’s taking forever, because I’m already over this part. I want to know what’s gonna happen next and I can’t until I write this part out, and it’s annoying and all I want to do is…well...something else. Anything else.