I’d promised someone I’d finish Part Five of Diners at the Memory’s End last night, and you know–I’m good at keeping my word. Most of the time.
But last night was one of those nights when I stayed true, though the distractions were getting to me. I was like on some massive ADHD blitz during the evening, and it was driving me a little nuts. But I finally got in there and started doing my thing.
For some reason, I’m still hesitating when I’m writing. Though I did discover something: when I have some tunes on that aren’t radio streaming, and I’ve got a small sniffer of cognac next to me, I tend to fly through the writing. It was like that when I was writing Kuntilanak; I’d load up the songs and go to town, and an hour later I’d be sitting on 1,200 words worth of awesome.
Since then I’ve gotten away from that mode. I’ve just gotten down and started writing. Most of the time I don’t have a problem–like now, I’m going through very fast, very good, very smooth, and I’m only ten minutes and two hundred words into this mesterpiece. But every so often, I feel the need to do that again.
It’s like I’ve re-tuned the motor and now everything is running so much better . . .
Part of what I believe I was having issues with last night, and the night before that, is that (1) I was tired, and (2) there was something about how the characters were acting that threw me off. I picked up the hook near the end, and it not only made sense, but it was a good set up for what’s going to come in the next few sections.
Well, not the next section. In that one you get to learn a little about cataclysmic variables, which should be fun. I don’t imagine I’ll be writing a lot about it, but I will have just a little blurb in there about it, as that event sets up what’s going to happen in Part Seven, and that will lead right into the mess that will be Part Eight.
Oh, poor Albert. He should know better.
This was something I didn’t deal with in the story the first time around, mostly because I didn’t think it was much of an issue. But in Transporting, it’s very obvious that Albert has a substance abuse issue. He self mediates a lot because he’s bi-polar, and while Cytheria didn’t give much of two shits about it through most of those stories, the now in this story is a much different time. There in lay the hook. Since it’s sort of hinted that Albert’s a bit on the wagon, certain things will come up, and before you know it, “the little green wheels are following me, oh, no, not again . . .”
Yeah, you gotta hate when that happens. At least the planet will be far enough away that it won’t bother him when it starts to glow.
Right now the story is big: 10,775 words. As the rate I’m going, I’m looking at a full length of 34,500 words. Oh, no, not again. Just a short story away from a novel, I am. I’m not worried. I know Part Seven is going to be something longer that what I’ve been writing, and Part Eight might run a few thousand words more than some of the current chapters. I do know a few of the later chapters are going to be big, so . . . getting to forty thousand isn’t going to be a big deal.
Getting to fifty thousand? We’ll see. I might be wordy, but not for the sake of padding.
When this story is ready to end, it’ll end.
That’s the way of my words.