I'm feeling a faint feeling of discomfort this morning. I'm waiting for Gwen to come out as it is Tuesday but she may not be coming - she's been ill. It was a long week-end up here in Canadaaaah, so like a woman to me - sorry, just broke into song there but I'm back now. I guess ...yes...two weekends of parties, canoeing, all sorts of fun followed by - pay bills, house on the market, get to work, yeehaw. Discomfort, even disease.
But the main discomfort I want to talk about (wait? want to talk about?) is to do with my work in progress (wip). I did my fifty thousand for June and now am committing to another thirty for this month so I will have the raw first draft. I'm loving it - I like the story, which may be a YA, not sure, maybe I'll just write a book and other people can decide what the heck it is - to quote Miles Davis "I'll play it first and tell you what it is later."
So why the discomfort? Because I made one of my main characters (there are four) have a certain thing about her and now I'm not so sure. It means a lot of tinking (that is knit-talk for going back and undoing - tink is knit backwards) and I'm just not sure. Actually, the truth is that I am sure - I know I have to do this - I have to listen to that part of me that knows this and just do it. I tried to have a character be a certain way to force the plot and she's having none of it. She doesn't give a shite about the plot, nor should she. Nor should I. The plot is the last damn thing I should be thinking of right now.
Thanks for listening. I'm off to do it now.