Subdued Intrinsic

Sometimes I am my worst enemy, whether it comes from writing a scene and having all the important information out of order (I totally reorganized a scene yesterday, realizing how bizarrely I had it after fighting with it and/or ignoring it for a week) or letting statistics get me down (on my bad days I look at the reality of how possible vs. impossible it is to become a published author and want to cry).

Both are kind of stupid.

Of course, at those moments, it doesn't feel stupid. It feels enormous.

For Silver I didn't actually write a formal outline until I was 3/4 into the book. I kind of just forced something out and hoped like Hades one of the many characters in my head would let me know whether or not the info was realistic. And that worked, for a first book, first draft, until I realized, "Crap. I have to think about what consequences things in this book have for the second and third books, and vice versa. Because yes, things from book two definitely have a bearing for how things in book one work. Make a little posty-note about that. You wanna write a multi-book story? Yeah, you want to think of the whole enchilada, even while you write the first part.

Now, I know I've mentioned my main form of plotting and organizing involves scribling nearly-indecipherable, cryptic non-proper sentences on Post-It Notes and small scraps of a paper. But around chapter three of Golden (when I had figured out about two dozen plot points which I'd scattered on dead trees all over my very pretty accordian file folder doohickie), I realized I needed an outline, because I had to decided where everything WENT.

Insane. It was really difficult for two reasons; obviously, because it wasn't a natural way of doing things for me, but even more so because I HATE the feeling of being told how to do something. Which, again, I realize is kind of dumb. I mean, I wrote the freakin' thing, didn't I? I'm the one who said how it would go, yeah? Doesn't seem to matter; it's still too much like 'authority', with which I have issues. Like the Mellancamp song says "I fight authority, authority always wins." And worse, my characters, perhaps because they all have a little me in them, are the same. They do not do well with the restriction of "This is how it's gonna go."

So, it's a little frustrating, because I know all this AMAZING stuff that's going to happen, really fantastic I'm-so-excited-about-it-I-could-puke stuff, but it isn't making it onto the page very well. And the pressure's on. Last chapter turned out beautifully. In at least one beta reader's opinion, the best chapter of the series so far. Talk about pressure. Talk about, "Hey, Ame, this next chapter, it's really gotta score, because if you don't get it JUST RIGHT, you're so going to BOMB, and not in the good way."

So, I've been hiding from the next chapter. Hiding, I tell you. I mean, yeah, I've legitimately had a lot of stuff going on outside of making Joss's life a guilty hell-hole, what with the painting of the disgustingly blue doors to a much better and prettier red, but still, if I'm honest, I'm hiding. I have questions I'm not entirely sure I have answers for.

But, if I remember correctly, I felt the same way about the last chapter too, before I figured it all out. You know . . . the chapter my betas adore.

I have the feeling pizza might make everything better. For me, not Joss. There are some things even mushrooms and mozzerella can't fix for you.

Moral of the story? Don't psych yourself out, and have your local Pizza Hut, Domino's, Papa John's, etc. on speed dial.

Oh, and here.