This morning starts out early like so many others on a Saturday: sitting in Panera, my breakfast finished and drinking my coffee. It’s almost seven AM and I’ve been awake since four-thirty. I have a bill to pay today, and I’m thinking of heading down to a local hair salon and getting my hair cut and my eyebrows shaped a bit. Tomorrow I need to do the laundry ’cause I haven’t many things that are clean. I also believe I’m developing a cold, because there’s been a strange tickling in my chest, one that started late last night and it bothering me this morning.
Not an auspicious start to the weekend, particularly if I want to go out tonight, which I am still debating.
Why am I debating this? Because I may want to stay in an write.
I reached out to a few online friends I have and caught up on chat for a few hours. I needed that because I was in serious need of decompression. I’m back to not sleeping well and dealing with long days at work, then writing at night, which is working on my head in strange ways.
Believe it or not, this novel is taking one hell of a toll on that fragile shell I refer to as my emotions. I’ll have to force myself to start writing, which is sometimes due to be tired, but other times it’s because I know, in my head, where I’m going with the scene, and I’m diggin’ the fact that I might find the conclusion of the scene a little heart rendering. A few times I’ve had to stop and work out a full-on crying jag, and more often than not I’m on the verge of tears when I crawl under the covers.
The Crazy Tale of Annie and Kerry brings up way too many bad memories, and the scene I’m in now is going to bring about a phrase I haven’t heard in some time, and I know that’s going to lead to something I don’t really want again, but it’s coming, I know it is, and one just lets it happen if you wanna get the story out.
Did I think this would happen? Yeah, probably a little. There are some intense feeling between these characters, and my feelings about them are just as strong. Crazy world, this writing. Sometimes you get caught up in these young, mind-swirling desires, and if you aren’t careful you find yourself falling in and getting dragged to the bottom of the emotional ocean, just as surely as if you fall into the Corryvreckan Maelstrom.
As I’ve started before, some writers have said you’re only at your best when you’re uncomfortable about what you’re writing. You’re putting yourself out there, pushing yourself to go places that one normally avoids. That’s how I feel at the moment as I’m wrapping up this first act: there are things being said that make me uncomfortable, because they bring back memories I’d prefer remain quiet and sleeping. Won’t happen, because I woke them up some time back–
And they’re gonna stay awake until such time this novel is completed.
Yeah . . . fun year ahead, I can tell.