I’ve been working on a new short story, of course, and really struggling with the scope of the effort. I need it to fit into a short piece, but every idea I latch onto is … well … bigger. When I sit down to write on it, I feel like one of those guys in a hot dog eating contest, staring down on a heaping pile of processed meat and white bread goodness.
Yummy picture, eh?
Sometimes writing fiction is like this, though, and at these times I feel my brain triple clutching and the little editor devil sitting on my shoulder and laughing like all get-out at my feeble attempts to latch onto a wave. Any wave. Good God or Vishnu, or whatever power that be, please let there be a wave.
Luckily, I’ve been here before and I know intellectually that things will work out. That doesn’t make it feel any better of course. But this morning, I think the fever broke. I saw a glimmer of how I can cut this to a digestible size, and the character started making noises like he was going to talk to me–which is a great sign, of course. Characters who talk are the easy ones to write. It was just a whisper this morning, but I’m optimistic. Again.
You just have to love this, don’t you?