April 10, 2002
Today's writing was not fun.
Today's writing was not fun. I managed 800+ words on The Host, but I hated almost every one of them. At one point I stopped and scribbled in my writing notebook: "I am barfing up huge indigestible chunks of exposition in this scene." Maybe I'm not. I've gotten to the point where questions have to be answered by someone other than the main characters, and it's coming out as a Twenty Questions session with the guy who has the answers. Part of me wants to sit and stew over it to find another way to do it, but if I do, it will never get written. So I forge on. My internal editor is having a fit.
This is a new kind of frustrating for me. I'm at the point where I pretty much know where I'm headed from here to the end, but I can't see a way to get there except by crappy, trite, boring writing. Which isn't fun. Grar.
Today's writing was not fun.
Today's writing was not fun. I managed 800+ words on The Host, but I hated almost every one of them. At one point I stopped and scribbled in my writing notebook: "I am barfing up huge indigestible chunks of exposition in this scene." Maybe I'm not. I've gotten to the point where questions have to be answered by someone other than the main characters, and it's coming out as a Twenty Questions session with the guy who has the answers. Part of me wants to sit and stew over it to find another way to do it, but if I do, it will never get written. So I forge on. My internal editor is having a fit.
This is a new kind of frustrating for me. I'm at the point where I pretty much know where I'm headed from here to the end, but I can't see a way to get there except by crappy, trite, boring writing. Which isn't fun. Grar.
