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What do you do when you're twenty pages in to a section that's supposed to be no more than fifty pages long, and which is supposed to chronicle that person's conversion experience -- though told in the tight pov of another person -- and you realize that that person hasn't made an appearance yet?
Regroup.
I guess this is a hijack situation, more or less -- though I think it's more of a logistical problem. I need to get the man without a country onstage so he can express his doubts about the repatriated workers' association, and I need to do this in the presence of the good bureaucrat who is running around trying to keep everything from exploding, though he's not discouraging the repatriated workers from going on strike, because the whole story is tightly in his pov at all times. There can be no conversation he does not witness, except for indirect ones which are reported to him.
There's a lot of loose ends, actually, which I have to anchor before I can weave them in. So instead of writing today I have printed out what I've got of this section and I'm taking it into the bathtub. Doesn't everybody do their best thinking in the bathtub?
Upcoming Date Thingies: tax day: the offsprings' birthday: and the four-month mark for The Conduit at Tor, at which point I write to them right away.
On April 18th, I will be the mother of no children: he will be 26, she will be 18.
Regroup.
I guess this is a hijack situation, more or less -- though I think it's more of a logistical problem. I need to get the man without a country onstage so he can express his doubts about the repatriated workers' association, and I need to do this in the presence of the good bureaucrat who is running around trying to keep everything from exploding, though he's not discouraging the repatriated workers from going on strike, because the whole story is tightly in his pov at all times. There can be no conversation he does not witness, except for indirect ones which are reported to him.
There's a lot of loose ends, actually, which I have to anchor before I can weave them in. So instead of writing today I have printed out what I've got of this section and I'm taking it into the bathtub. Doesn't everybody do their best thinking in the bathtub?
Upcoming Date Thingies: tax day: the offsprings' birthday: and the four-month mark for The Conduit at Tor, at which point I write to them right away.
On April 18th, I will be the mother of no children: he will be 26, she will be 18.