So, the relentless teenage boy finally dragged me back out to ride bicycles this evening. It was gorgeous weather for it, cool and clear. It was pretty sweet riding weather, actually, almost as sweet as . . .
Hey, I said there would be photos. I didn’t say they’d be any good. 😉
Anyhow, getting back into bike riding was really nice, although rough at first. I’m hoping that it’s going to become part of my daily routine, something that I can just DO and not think too much about.
I’m still working to get my daily writing to that point as well. Staring at the blank page is rough, although not as physically painful as riding a bike. It’s a lot harder to get back into the flow with writing, too, especially when you’re continuing a project that’s been long abandoned.
I know that I should save most of the editing and rewrites for the second draft, but I’ve had to re-read most of the manuscript to remember what was happening and who did what. Some of the edits are fairly important things that I want to remember to get into the draft now (a species that was diurnal becomes nocturnal in this version, a major plot point later on.) Some are just correcting typos (I could have sworn I hadn’t made that many typos, but, man, they’re everywhere.) Some are bigger issues, like whether or not I should axe a character or combine two characters to make one new one. It all has to be done, one way or another, and since I have changed the topography since the first draft, at some point I need to Draw A Map (which Orson Scott Card would have done first and I was able to skip because the first draft was in an actual real location.) Sigh.
So, I’ve managed to write a thousand words each day but I haven’t made up for the day I was sick or the day that I used to write a new short story. I think that’s okay, I WAS really sick and the short story had to be written. It took me another day to get the short story characters OUT of my head so that I could delve back into the novel’s world. I’m still listening to Scandinavian metal music, though. What can I say, I’m a sucker for those Finnish bands. And, yes, I know Finns are crazy.
We crazy folks got to stick together, after all. And what is it, if not crazy, to sit and make up stories about imaginary monks? To hate and love them so much that sometimes you forget they aren’t real? To dream about them and spend hours slamming the keyboard, hoping that it’s salable in the end and not a total waste of time?
Definitely crazy. But, hey, it’s a type of crazy that I can live with.
Sigh. Too bad there’s no beignets left . . . I could sure use a sugar fix before fixing this wretched scene.