No drinking last night, save for tea. Why tea? Because I was crashing out on my butt at around 7 PM, and if I hadn’t done anything, I was going to find myself going to bed about 9 PM, and I certainly didn’t want that happening. So, tea. Because coffee would be a little too strong, and there’s nothing like slightly flavored water to keep one awake when they don’t want an enormous caffeine buzz going.
So it was back into Diners at the Memory’s End, and damned if this isn’t one of the hardest sections I’ve ever had to write. I mean, really: I’m about 3500 words into Part Eight, and it seems like it’s crawling. Five hundred words here, three hundred here, seven hundred last night–it’s just going on and on. Part of the reason it’s taking so long is that I’m falling into a lot of socializing of late, chatting up friends here and there. That’s a good thing, because of late I’ve really needed to have something in my life to make The Undisclosed Location even a bit bearable.
Part of it seems to be this tendency for me not to get comfortable while writing these days. It’s been horrible; it’s as if I can’t put three words together without having to go back and correct something. It’s been driving me a little crazy, to be honest, because it’s totally messing up my ability to write. Nothing says, “Dysfunctional Writing,” like having to stop and correct something every few seconds.
Oh, I know what you’re going to say: ”Ray, you’re suppose to write first and edit second.” Maybe I need to break this habit, because I could probably get a lot more done. Then again, I’d go nuts seeing all those read lines on the screen . . .
Lastly, though, I think there is some mental thing going on as well. Transporting was a story that, in a very meta-view, was about what was suppose to be a very short kidnapping that turned into something of a grand romantic relationship. Diners takes place not long after the end of Transporting, and it’s not so much about the grand romance, as it is about what’s wrong with the romantics. It’s about being unfaithful, and how it affects both partners–partners whom, by the way, don’t have the option of screaming, “Screw you, cheating asshole!” and walking away.
And said being unfaithful is coming up, very quickly.
When I wrote this story the fist time, Cytheria sort of blew off the indiscretion. Not this time. This time it’s going to nail her hard, and she’s going to hurt because of it. She’ll also understand the need to reconcile, because, as stated, breaking up isn’t an option, but that doesn’t make what happened with Albert and Meredith hurt any less.
I don’t like hurting Cytheria. I know she’s not a real person, but this is something that I get caught up in, the lives of my imagination, and knowing what’s coming isn’t making writing this any easier.
That’s one of the problems I have with Cytheria and Albert. I’ve become so caught up in their lives that I know what’s going to happen, and where there are rough spots, and where there are the smooth waters. Where they will find gentle waters, and where they will be engulfed in sound and thunder. I know their lives better than I know my own.
That’s not always a good thing–not for people you love.