It is safe to say that I am now, almost, just about, completely, “back”. Though the cold made it hurt to walk home yesterday–and by “hurt”, I mean my lungs felt like they were on fire–and I probably ate more than was necessary, I had a fairly good night’s sleep, and feel decent this morning. Now all that remains is this annoying, persistent fluid in the upper chest, which I know from past experience will linger for weeks, if not longer.
I’m back on the writing game, however. Not only did I get back into the work in progress, but I ended up editing a piece for someone who sorta threw it at me and said, “Hey, need this by tomorrow, can you look it over?” Sure, why not? Isn’t that why I’m here?
The great news for me, however, was cranking out nearly a thousand words on the story. After two days of very low production–only about a thousand total in that period–and then taking a day off because writing hurt, it really hurt, things felt sort of smooth once more getting right back in. Which is good, because what I’m writing isn’t that easy.
In fact, this is a part of the story I’ve dreaded writing for a while.
This is where Annie comes clean to one of the instructors, telling her all the reasons why she’s there at the school, while going on in great detail about how she’s sometimes not the nicest little girl in the world, and that there have been occasions where she’d been labeled a selfish little shit. In short, there are times when she’s a mean little girl without benefit of a curl, and she knows it.
But now she’s running on a bit of fear because of things that happened the night before in the Midnight Madness, and this fear is a big foreign to her, because in the past, whatever Annie wanted, Annie got. Case in point is that when she was eight she forced her father to build her a house on the shores of the lake on their rather expansive property. Why? Because she had a dream, that’s why. And she was also pissed at her dad for another reason, so–build me a house, daddy.
No trained squirrels for this girl, no sir.
The problem she faces is simple: in the past, whenever she wanted something, the only obstacle to her getting it were her parents, and she’d wear them down no matter what. It wasn’t like the object of her desire was going to tell her to take a hike–lake house and sitting rooms and books on sorcery aren’t known for being all the disagreeing.
This time, the object of her desire can say no. It hasn’t, so far, but . . . there’s always that chance. And within that chance lay the fear she now feels.
It’s not a pleasant scene to write, because it becomes necessary to cast a character in an unsavory light. But then, that’s one of Annie’s flaws: she knows she is selfish from time to time. It’s just that, in her world, it’s never been a problem.
But if you think this scene is hard for me to write, just wait until I get to the professor’s observations. Oh, boy . . .