Last night I buckled down. I said to myself, "Self, this story's taking too damn long. Quit farting around and get it finished already." So with the girls in bed and the dishes done, I jumped into the story with both feet. No checking out the blogs online for more commentary on the Ellison Hugo Awards fiasco. No checking email. Nothing but writing.
And lo and behold, a groove was gotten into. Some trouble spots upstream were identified and corrected. Characters were rearranged on the playing field. Then I charged headlong into furthering the plot. The whale was lifted. I knew I wouldn't finish it in that sitting, but I knew I'd get within shouting distance--and it wasn't even midnight yet. Folks, I tell ya, I was cooking with gas.
Then the power went out. Twelve o'clock, straight up. This whole side of the county, apparently. I had a few choice words for the power company, of course. Fortunately, years of journalism have instilled in me the habit of backing up regularly, so I figure I only lost a couple of paragraphs. But still, when I'm hitting the sweet spot and the words are flowing, disturbances in the Force are not what I want to be dealing with.
Now Playing: SixMileBidge Across the Water
No comments:
Post a Comment