i just can't settle down, i guess

I'm trying to concentrate - I really am. But it's not working. I'm 150 pages into this book (writing, not reading) and there have been so many clarifications to make along the way that I lost track. So I made myself a list and now I'm rereading the damn thing to make the repairs now, lest I forget.

As if.

I used to have a rule that I never signed my artwork until it was so damn done it was toasted on the outside. Well, a book is never done - ask anyone who writes one. Especially when you've only got a third of a rough draft written - that's about 30,000 words if you wondered. So the rules have to be modified.

Like, revising before you type "the end" is never a good idea.

I know this. I know I should be just writing my little heart out, typos and clumsy phrasing be damned. I've even anticipated the plot pretty well, without writing it down. I know what's going to happen next, I know who's preggers and which servant is going to fuck things up, and I even know the likely damsel with whom our hero will end up; and let me tell you EVERYBODY wants to get this guy between the sheets. Except they don't really have sheets there, and they often sleep all together in one big bed anyway, a cozy tangle of skin and fingers and knees... No, it's not quite what you're thinking. But if it makes you happy, dream away about Sex writing orgy scenes, wearing nothing but a tan and crease in my brow. Far be it from me to ruin anyone's fantasy.

It's the only chance you (the quintessential author) (or I guess I could go with the royal We) ever get to do this - go through the thing for the first time and discover the new world: footpaths and highways, kings and commoners, roses and thorns; for the first time. So I thought I'd like to just get through the first draft and see how many diversions I have to weed through. Because like in real life, the real story is in the diversions. The name changes and the details of a numerical religion and how many frickin' moons the planet has and how this guy is going to learn the language in like two weeks... all that will work itself out during a proper revision.

Like the book, my day has been full of diversions: cool emails from friends, sent and recieved; buying the kids candy so they will keep still for five fucking minutes so I can try on some new jeans; getting some disappointing news from my husband; and some really sore hamstrings, and there's this muscle in the middle of my back that won't stop twitching... well, it's all good anyway, right? Look at me, I've got my own life-plot; full of believable details and well-rounded characters.

I know all this.

So why am I writing about writing it? So why don't I skip on down to page 154 and start writing; now that it's just about to get really good?

Fuck if I know. I just can't settle down, I guess.

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