Yesterday was sort of zombie day for me. Don’t know what it was, but I seemed to spend most of the day in a daze, fighting to stay awake. It’s like being on medication, but not. Some of it came from not being able to sleep, but some of it . . . well, the kind of work I do throughout the day is slumberous. It will put you right out if you’re not careful.
I wasn’t careful.
But I made it home. I spoke with some people, which woke me up a little, just enough to keep me from falling into the pit of slumber. It really made the day stretch out, let me tell you. By the time 9 PM rolled around, I thought it was time to make it to bed.
But I started writing. Because it was time.
This has been a big part of the problem of late. When I want to write, I’ve been so wracked out that the words don’t come easy. And when you have to force the words onto the paper, so to speak, then the story feels forced as well.
But there was a strange thing. Yes, I was writing while I was chatting with someone, so I was pretty much writing in fifty word busts. But they came out. It was as if, when I got to the part where I needed to say what happened between two of my characters, the words wanted to come out. They’d been waiting all night, and suddenly–there they were.
It was time for Albert and Cytheria to speak. Cytheria already knew what had happened between Albert and Meredith, and she who is able to float up the side of 40 meter towers and hover like she’s the Dark Phoenix–to which Albert made the comparison–wanted to see what Albert was going to say.
What she didn’t know was that Albert had already decided to come clean.
See, with Albert–he knows he screwed up, and he did it badly. There are reasons why Albert couldn’t walk away from Cytheria if he wanted to, but the bottom line is he never wants to walk away. She is everything to him, and he knows it. While he likes Meredith–and she is a nice person, regardless what one might think of her orbital boinking–he loves Cytheria. To him, she is the star by which he guides his ship, and he’s never wanted anything else.
So, right now, he’s confessing. He’s talking. He’s telling all. I was able to show his declarations without writing everything out, which wasn’t needed because–hey, I’m wordy enough, but the reader doesn’t need to hear every single detail of how he felt.
That’s actually coming later, so don’t worry, you’re going to get your history lesson.
So I managed to get out 615 words last night, and I was around 600 the night before, and 500 the night before that . . . it’s coming back slowly. Whatever it has been that was keeping me from moving froward has begun to vanish. Sure, I still have a lot of things going on around me, things that are distracting me, but I need some of those distractions right now, and I’m fitting them in around my writing.
Tonight I’ll try to 700 words. I know what needs to be said–
So it’s not like I can’t say them, right?