Pulling teeth


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600 new words, typed in a mini-scene I’d scribbled in my notebook last week and a new one that comes next in the plot.  This new scene is short and flat–almost like the author couldn’t see the scene in her own head.  Oh, right, it’s cuz she couldn’t.  I had no muse-hit from this one.  In effect, it’s a placeholder for when I figure out the real energy of the scene and fix it.  Meanwhile, I think I can continue from here to scenes I can visualize better.  (I hope.)

I have this strong desire to get it *right*.  Like, I can’t write the scene until I can see it, so I’m going to beat on it and beat on it (in my head) until I can see it–except the harder I beat, the further away the scene is, until I’m at the point where I KNOW what should be happening, but I can’t see it at all.  The window into the world is shuttered, and I’m straining desperately to hear what’s going on through the glass.  This is when I fear that writing is always going to be like pulling teeth.

So I said frell-it, I’m *not* going to get it right.  I don’t have to get it right yet, because I still haven’t found the right voice or pacing of the story.  So, even the scenes that are “right”–there are a couple, but they’re short–will probably be wrong once I find the right voice, and will have to be rewritten.  Therefore, stop caring about “right” and just put something on the page!

Except (says the other voice in my head), if it’s this hard to see the scene, how do I know it isn’t just that the scene is completely wrong and I need to re-think what’s supposed to happen here?  In which case, if I keep marching in this direction, I’ll be so ridiculously far from “right” that I’ll be writing a completely new story the next time.  Wasted time and effort.

Yeah, I don’t know.

Meanwhile, Allie is stubbornly refusing to be funny.  Not even a snide remark.  Anne (her sister-in-law) is at least good at poking fun at her, and Allie appreciates the humor–but generates none of her own.  Piffle.

I stopped writing when I wanted Allie to go talk to a teacher/priest/techie-guy whose title I couldn’t invent.  “Maester” was the closest that came to mind, from GRRM’s A Game of Thrones.  Obviously, that’s taken.  And then I got distracted by the intarwebs.

Oh yeah, and I have a cold.  And I’m going to a planetarium today to see a show!

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