Ambercon was this weekend, which warrants its own post. Ambercon eats wordcounts. However, I am sufficiently recovered that yesterday I wrote a few hundred words, this morning I wrote a few hundred words … I’ll write a few hundred more at lunch, and again on the way home. Progress is happening.
Surprisingly, I didn’t seem to feel a need to self-flagellate over not having written for three days. Just recognized that I had enough brain power to stay awake on the commute and pulled out Jarvis. I keep omitting drama that I used to have regularly. You’d think I’d be used to having cut it out, but it still surprises me.
My synopsis sprung the tiniest of leaks this morning; my protag glared at me from the middle of a drunken conversation with the Victim of the story and asked me sharply just what the hell I thought I was about; wouldn’t it be better to just get on with things.
“I mean. I mean … listen, I’m not sht … not stupid. [This thing] just happened, and [that thing] has been happening, so … and I’ve got more’n two brain sh-cells to rub together. I think I should [undertake next action scheduled for three chapters later].” I was lacking in convincing arguments, so let him go.
Which was an odd conversation. I’m a little bit sorry that it will necessarily have to be omitted from the final draft.
Crossposted from Epinephrine & Sophistry