Wow. I’ve just experienced the most insane day.
It’s Thursday, which means The Man and the kids are at school all day. It also means that The Boys (aka Sam and Dean Winchester) are on TV and no one may speak to me or make a sound during the 8 o’clock hour. If you ring me, come to my door, or even dare to sneeze in my presence during this time, I will banish you forthwith from the Kingdom of Me.
Uh…where was I again? Oh, yes. The insanity that was today.
So, the house is quiet, I’m all alone and I’m over-joyed because this is when I’m at my most productive. I only wrote 110 words yesterday and have been feeling pretty miserable about it, too. But I just couldn’t concentrate. The cats were destroying the house and being so damned cute about it that I just had to stop in mid-sentence and watch them play-fighting. And of course, it being a holiday, schools were closed so everyone was home and we had to do stuff together, like watch the Sara Jane Adventures and *SQUEE!* when we saw The Doctor. (David Tennant, I shall miss you and your crazy rubber face! I just hope the Eleventh Doctor is as cool as you are.)
What the hell was I talking about again? Oh, right. Today’s craziness.
Quiet, peace, calm, productivity. I wrote 3,000 words in three hours. I was on fire! Smoking hot and really chuffed with what I wrote. I’m quite excited to show it to The Man, who has been pretty supportive of my writing obsession, by and large. Yeah, he picks apart the story from time to time, but so far his suggestions have been good ones and have not only improved the story, but have got me thinking about stuff, too. And thinking, 9 out of 10 doctors will tell you, is not a bad thing.
I say “so far” and “have been” because when he comes home tonight and we get to talking about where I should go with the story from here, he tells me (or rather, I think he tells me) that I have to start all over from the beginning because what I’ve written does not work in a logical universe. He’s got his industrial-sized awl out and is poking holes in the plot and characters like mad.
I’m stunned, to say the least. 21,000 words, 53 pages, eleven chapters and I HAVE TO START ALL OVER?!?!?! Not only no, but HELL NO! Couldn’t he have mentioned this when I was still developing the idea? Couldn’t he have told me this 20,000 words ago? Couldn’t he just enjoy a little suspension of disbelief and realise that not only do vampires NOT ACTUALLY EXIST, but my vampires aren’t the classic afraid-of-holy-items, burn-up-in-sunlight, allergic-to-garlic vampires. (Don’t worry; they don’t sparkle or have the ability to conceive children, nor do they wear rings that protect them from sunlight or become obsessed with teen-aged girls.)
Here ensues a big row, me screaming and crying, him telling me that I’m over-reacting, children blithely unaware of this because they’re playing nicely together in Girl Child’s bedroom with the door closed. Apparently, I cannot take criticism. HE LIES! I can, when it’s actual criticism and not stupid logic, which is my undoing every single time it rears its ugly head.
So, after a conversation with my bestest buddy in the entire universe (I love you, D!) and the soothing, relaxing task of making faux sweet-and-sour chicken (bake store-bought chicken nuggets instead of breading and frying your own chicken bits!), I’ve calmed down a bit and can talk about this…this…issue The Man has with my story. Apparently, it’s not an insurmountable problem, as I’ve previously thought. The issue isn’t in any of the 21,000 words, 53 pages, or eleven chapters that I’ve already written. The issue is with the premise of the story and is some-what easily fixed.
Phew! Tragedy avoided. But it really took the wind out of my sails and to comfort myself, I watched The Mummy and drooled over Oded Fehr. He’s so beautiful.