I assume my place upon the virtual soapbox, and I complain, without planning, without organization. Please feel free to do the same.
I've gained a new refrain over the last couple months: "Some days are easier than others." I don't think it's a good sign that, though today's writing was without question easier than most, it was in an entirely worthless direction, and for it my book has lost its momentum, which has so far been its pretty much only redeeming factor. If mistakes are best when they're biggest, then I win: I thought it'd be fun and that perhaps it might open some new and exciting doors to add some fantasy to an otherwise mainstream thriller. I don't know.... I don't think it's working. Maybe with revision. Maybe. But isn't revision, even it's very mention--at least inasmuch as it equals stopping, even temporarily, midstream (like stopping to pee on roller coaster) impossible--or at least against the very spirit of the month--especially if I plan to finish in time? I don't know (another recently-made near-constant refrain). Well, if it is, I AM GOING AGAINST. I'm sorry (to whom?), but I just can't let myself keep going for paragraphs and pages and chapters on end (heaven forbid) if I've diverged from and whatever I want this book to become (which destination I'm not all that sure of, which lack alone could be good, could be bad, and I do know basically where I want it to go plot-wise, but this fantasy element ... well, I don't know what it's going to do in the long run if not function as just anti-deus ex machina (it's a hellish little beasty, my fantastic element)). So I'm confused, a little lost, I want my momentum back, so I'm not aiming for progress tonight; I'm editing. Sue me.
Okay, I'm done whining for now. Mostly, at least. Just a few more words before I turn the time to you:
Other than my complaints, my first fourteen thousand words have gone fairly smoothly. I see the novel finishing somewhere around fifty or sixty thousand altogether. Of course, I have to step it up a little if I'm going to finish in time, but there it is. I can do it. I am, once again, optimistic.
I do have one last concern, inevitably to come off as moaning: I DON'T WANT TO WRITE JUST ANOTHER THRILLER; I WANT IT TO BE NEW AND DIFFERENT AND FRESH, BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO TO DO IT. Okay. That's it. The box is yours.
Feel free to complain to your heart's content. This is your box. This is your virtual receptacle for your cathartic, lexical expectorations.