One of the themes I tend to follow in my stories that is no one is perfect. It doesn’t matter if you’re human, non-human, or something a little special: every now and then you’re gonna screw up. If you’re human and you mess up, you might be out of some time and a few hundred bucks. If you something non-human, your screw up might cost someone their life.
Such as it is with my muse, Erin. She did something bad, and now her charge is paying for that screw up. At least she feels bad about what happened.
The novel is moving into some dark territory before it climbs out into the light. It’s night time, Erin is upset, and she’s got a senior goddess breathing down her neck. Are there senior goddesses? Of course there are: someone’s gotta run those people. You even find out that Erin has a boss, and it’s probably not who you think it is, because these guys don’t hang out with their own mythological neighbors. No, these people have the run of whatever world they run, and they don’t give a shit about the ethic lines that worshiped them.
Unlike the last few chapters, where I struggled to get my feeling out on the page, time time I’m kinda zoomin’ the chapter. I’ve written nearly twenty-five hundred words in the last two days, and were it not for an important Skype meeting tonight, I might have actually finished the chapter. I’ll still get in some words tonight, but it looks as if the finishing of the chapter comes tomorrow–and the finishing of the story may happen on Sunday. Maybe Monday, Tuesday at the outside. But I see the end coming, it’s just around the bend.
Maybe this chapter is going so well because I’m feeling the sorrow these days, just like Erin. Things are happening around me, a little to me, a little to people I know, and it’s weighing on my mind. That’s probably why I was up at four AM again today, with my brain playing its little games of, “Hey, listen!” and keeping me up when I should be catching the snooze instead. It has done this to me for the better part of a week now, and the early morning chicanery is getting old. I need sleep, and I need it soon, because the drive home is killing me.
It also doesn’t help with the creative process. The ideas seem slow these days, as if all the befuddlement I’m feeling from getting up so early every day is whacking my imaginative juices. I will say this about hanging at The Undisclosed Location: I always seemed to have something bouncing about in my brain. These days, I seem to have . . . emptiness. Or, at the least, a bit of fogginess, because things never seem as clear as they once were.
It’s time to get past these blocks. Perhaps after I do my next edit the brain will open up. Or maybe that’ll happen after I get some sleep. Though I ended up not getting a lot of sleep last year–
And writing wise, that didn’t turn out all that bad.