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Arse, meet chair. Fingers, meet keyboard. Head, meet desk. C'mon, folks, mingle!
Writing The Noise of Endless Wars is such an odd feast-or-famine situation—I'm either slamming it out like Hunter S. Thompson on deadline pressure and a handful of whatever pills he's on this week, or whining ad infinitum about my absent Muse like she ran off with the UPS guy or something. Unfortunately it's usually the latter, which is how I've managed to stretch the rough draft process out to nearly four years. Bad would-be novelist! No herbal tea for you!
But then there are those days when I get the convenient kick in the culottes from out of the proverbial blue. This week, it came from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
figmentj, who read me a random excerpt from a novel a relative of hers had self-published, an experience painful enough that the only way I could stop my right eyelid from twitching was to open up the ol' WIP and pound away with a shriek of "OH MY FNORKING GOD I AM SO MUCH BETTER THAN THAT." Luckily, it worked to the tune of 3,258 words, more than the previous two months combined. It also meant getting down on paper The Scene, the image from a dream I had way back when that was the tent peg that I strung everything else to, and thus the scene I've been writing in my head since three months before I even started. (Needless to say, it needs work. I'm fine with that.)
The even better news means I have only one more ginormo-whammy scene to crank out, followed by a short epilogue, and this rough draft is omigodsIcan'tbelieveI'matypingthis finally done. As in capital-D-O-N-E finished. Then, of course, it's the red pen fandango, but at this point I'm actually looking forward to that bit. But for right now, my palms are sweating at the prospect of no longer being a presumptive novelist and instead being an actual, y'know, novelist. More coal, sailor, 'cause we're taking this baby up to ramming speed.
But then there are those days when I get the convenient kick in the culottes from out of the proverbial blue. This week, it came from
figmentj, who read me a random excerpt from a novel a relative of hers had self-published, an experience painful enough that the only way I could stop my right eyelid from twitching was to open up the ol' WIP and pound away with a shriek of "OH MY FNORKING GOD I AM SO MUCH BETTER THAN THAT." Luckily, it worked to the tune of 3,258 words, more than the previous two months combined. It also meant getting down on paper The Scene, the image from a dream I had way back when that was the tent peg that I strung everything else to, and thus the scene I've been writing in my head since three months before I even started. (Needless to say, it needs work. I'm fine with that.)The even better news means I have only one more ginormo-whammy scene to crank out, followed by a short epilogue, and this rough draft is omigodsIcan'tbelieveI'matypingthis finally done. As in capital-D-O-N-E finished. Then, of course, it's the red pen fandango, but at this point I'm actually looking forward to that bit. But for right now, my palms are sweating at the prospect of no longer being a presumptive novelist and instead being an actual, y'know, novelist. More coal, sailor, 'cause we're taking this baby up to ramming speed.
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FINISH! THIS IS EMBARRASSING!
:D
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You have to finish it! Have to have to have to, because I wanna know what happens (and how), dammit!!! Your public demands it!
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