I’m trying to make sense of my own life, right now. I don’t expect to bring order to the chaos, but a little peace and calm might be nice. I’m looking for a place of stillness.
I don’t always need quiet to write. Sometimes, noise and excitement are just as good.
But right now, there’s such a yearning for calm that my characters almost seem to fall asleep on the page. I should be grabbing chunks of manuscript and revising. Getting my characters into danger, and letting them blow things up.
Instead… they’re cuddling, and treating me to lengthy discussions of their various cultures. They have skipped the middle, and moved on to the happily ever after. And we’re not even talking a sexy, go-with-it and sell-it-as-erotica happily ever after. We’re talking slippers and flannel nightgown.
I’m pretty sure the Basillea of the Upright Empire is chopping up carrots and potatoes to make a pot roast. In a few minutes, her husband will start begging for help with the crossword puzzle.
I’m not bored, but I should be.
I really, really should be.
Times like this, it usually gets down to one of three causes.
- There’s something wrong with me. (Yes. Of course, but it can’t be helped.)
- There’s something wrong with the story. (Possible, but I don’t think so.)
- Complete lack of discipline.
I guess I’d better just get moving. I have some fragments I need to glue together, and some new work that needs to be done.