Slowly mastering potion-making. I think I ought to have my head read. On the bright side, September officially ends today, and that means I should be getting back to work (on something, I suppose) on Monday. Should be.
It's probably going to be The Great Man. Events in the book keep popping into my head. That means three months of hell. No seriously.
Here's the thing. I don't drive the stories. They drive me. The best recent example of that was the terrible daydream that had me sobbing hysterically moments before Jazz returned from Boston.
It was a daydream. I was lucid. I should have been able to control it. But no. I wasn't. The result was excruciating heartbreak.
Writing The Great Man series has proven to be much the same sort of experience. All the angst and grief and anger are things I tend to feel myself - even though I'm just describing a character's experience. It's a bit like when someone upsets your friend, and you feel upset on their behalf. Only, imagine feeling like that for three months.
And the nightmares!
Oivey! This series takes a lot out of me.
And yet, there isn't any other story I care as much about. There is no other story I've written that drives me to write the way this one does.
It's a little frightening, possibly psychotic, and I'll be very glad when it's over. For now, though, I'll suffer my way through it because, and you can quote me on this, the ending is just beautiful. Like a sunrise.
O.K. Last day of freedom coming up. I'd best make the most of it. Have a great weekend everyone. See you all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Monday morning!
The young men of a place, when they know that a young man is paying attention to a girl, seize hold of him and place him in a wheelbarrow in which they wheel him up and down until they are tired, when they upset on the nearest pile or in a pond. To say that a man has "ridden in the one-wheeled coach" is tantamount to the expression that he has gone a-courting.
- Rev. S. Rundle's Transactions of the Penzance Natural History Society, 1886