Someday, when Grace is long finished and I haven’t read it in years, haven’t thought about it in ages, I’m going to pick up a copy and think, “Right, the book that made me crazy, I remember this one.”
Friday was fantastic. The words flowed like they haven’t since… oh, sometime in A Lonely Magic or maybe even back when I was writing fanfiction. They just poured out of me.
But this weekend was anguished. Torture, misery, deep reflections on whether I should quit writing and what I wanted to do with my life instead. Seriously, I had a brief moment of thinking maybe I could go back to waitressing. I can never go back to waitressing. I was a great waitress, but that was a long time ago, and I don’t have nearly the stamina or patience that it would take to do it again. But it was that kind of weekend.
Today I finished the chapter I was working on. And I like it. It makes me laugh. The characters are such… people. They’re so real to me, so alive. And these are the dead ones.
I think I’ve also managed to embrace the weirdnesses. This book, which will someday, fingers crossed, be finished, is going to be the weirdest book I have ever written and that’s saying something, given the others.