Okay, I used to think that I was a natural, innate *artiste*, and that all it would take to whip out a novel would be to sit down and just push it out of my brain. Well, let me tell you, that was dead wrong. Nothing came easy--not even getting characters to open up doors and look outside.
In fact, I have been sitting on Part VI of Family Matters for about 5 days, with three separate--and frankly, crappy--attempts to get it out on the page. So, I finally made myself sit in my chair with my Liam&Lindsay playlist and forced myself to figure out how to get the ideas on the page with a modicum of rational sense, and aside from the hour of lost time I spent looking at houses in Tiburon on Trulia--for what reason I cannot recall, other than to avoid having to finish the scene--I think it was time well spent.
I feel like today I earned the title "Author." And the funny thing is, it's not even a major scene, just one of those irritating moments in the text when I have to link two bigger movements of the piece together. I couldn't figure out how to get a character to change her behavior when it is totally irrational. But I'm writing a romance, which is completely based, founded, and rooted in the irrational, so I don't know why this was so difficult, except that I seem to have little in common with my main character, and I think I was trying to force her personality and needs into a mold that is made for my personality and needs. Gah! I have never been so frustrated!
However, after struggling with that frustration and pushing through to the other side, where I have some solid work finished, I feel so utterly accomplished. The damned thing didn't go where I wanted it to exactly, but I ended on a note that I think my readers will be able to stomach, at least after I have a go at revising it tomorrow.
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