So, I’ve made a bit of a breakthrough with the ending of my novel. Stepping away really did help. I’ll need to make a few changes to the last chapter I completed, but they will be minimal.
I also came up with an idea that will require some rewrites to the first part of the story. It’s a great notion and I’ll be able to expand upon it in a way I couldn’t with the original plan. I’m very pleased.
I made several notes for the edits that will follow the completion of the draft. Details about emotions, setting and the main characters career.
I made lists for a few things I need to research for accuracy and things I know need clarification. I’m anxious to start layering in these details. I still need to finish the first draft, but I believe the direction I chose will be relatively smooth.
Last week I felt disheartened. This week I’m energized.
[box type=”info”] If you want to read a cute story from my personal life, click the tab at the top of this post that says “The Writer’s Personality” [/box]
Friday, I spent the afternoon with my cousin’s children ages eight, six and two. Fortunately, I was not alone. That much energy exceeds my limitations. I am a writer after all and more familiar with sitting alone in front of a computer with imaginary people for companions.
Anyway, we decided it would be a good idea to go swimming; temps in the 90s tend to justify such actions. Since I haven’t bought a swimsuit in many years, I put on some shorts and a tank top. A orange tank top to be precise.
Now the two-year-old doesn’t swim, but wears floaties. She wants someone to have a hold of her at all times. When I entered the pool, she reached for me. Once satisfied that I had a good grip on her, she pointed to my tank top and said, “Red.” I responded, “No, it’s orange.” She argued. We went back and forth for a minute or so and I finally said, “You just want to argue.”
We left our argument unsettled and proceeded to play. It was great fun and a bit of a bonding experience.
It came time to get out of the pool. We stood on the porch for a while, drip drying and eating hopsicles – her word for popsicles.
When I went to change out of my wet clothes, my young companion decided to go with me. We sequestered ourselves in the bathroom. She leaned against the bathtub and chattered away as I undressed. When I laid my tank top on the counter, she pointed to it and said, “That’s orange.”
“Yes, it surely is,” I said.