Today is Monday, which traditionally comes before Tuesday and after Sunday, but recently the Mondays just seem to pile up. I'm losing whole weeks to this phenomenon. I wake up on Monday, then it's Sunday night again and I can't remember the week. I guess it happens with the other days as well. Why is it that the days go faster the older you get? Shouldn't it go the other way? You know, the old cliche about sitting on your porch and watching the sunset?
Anyway, I've been working on Let It Go. I've finished the middle that I skipped earlier, got the dolphin scene done. The scene where she goes back and confronts the man who told her that her husband's suicide was her fault fell flat--turns out he died six months ago, which I wasn't aware of until I actually wrote it. One of the disadvantages of being a pantser. So she couldn't face him. I'm sure that scene will turn into something else later, and reintegrate itself into the story. It feels important.
There's a lot of conflict in this story, a lot of tension, but it has to be there simply because of the kind of book it is. It addresses issues and problems that I never wanted to touch, never had any experience with. I still feel like it's going in the direction it needs to, like I'm being guided. Which may sound funny to some people, but that's my life.
It took me six years to write Without A Voice. Let it Go is almost done two months after I started it. Maybe I'm getting better at listening.
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