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A Little More Detail
I was very tired last night, and frustrated because I'm in one of those times when I'm not doing a lot of thinking or reflecting. All my energy seems to be going into mundane survival. And I hate times like that.
My daughter, as I'm sure I've mentioned before, is the only grandchild on both sides of the family, and therefore the recipient of far too many gifts from doting grandparents, even after I beg them to stop showering her with "stuff." And a lot of it is just "stuff." She used to have a room upstairs that was literally just piled high with stuff. There wasn't even any room to play. It got cleaned out when the SO and her twins moved in and my Ex needed the room. She got rid of a lot of stuff: some that was broken was thrown away, other stuff was given to charity. But she still has a lot, and it all moved in downstairs with me. I've never quite recovered from it. We're still working on going through it, finding good ways to store what she wants to keep and releasing as much as possible.
Add to that clutter my own clothing and the assorted things that used to live stored in my bedroom closet which are now living in my kitchen and living room because the closet project is taking far longer than the month that my friend initially quoted to me. The good news here is that he should be coming by tonight to put the hanging rod and the shelves back up, so I should be able to put all of it back where it belongs.
But lately I feel like we're drowning in stuff, choking in it. We're both getting better at releasing it, both of us letting go of unnecessary stuff, but it's a slow process.
At work I'm starting to feel resentful again when anyone asks me to do anything. What's the matter with you people? Can't you do anything yourselves? is not a healthy attitude for an assistant whose job it is to provide administrative support for a large group. And it feels like Miss V is trying to manage me again -- but it may be I'm hypersensitive right now.
The novel is moving, which is good -- but it gets complicated when characters who used to be cut-outs suddenly have lives and minds of their own. They look at the scenes I have written for them, then turn to me with expressions of dismay and say, "What? You want me to do that? I don't think so!" And so scenes I thought finished are thrown up into the air.
For example, Reg Stanley, who used to have a single walk-on scene early on the story as a simple plot device puppet, now has a background and an emotional life and figures prominently in the first part of a two-part climax. And maybe becomes a major player in an earlier dramatic episode. And now he's telling me in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't just sit there and let the town guard investigate what he believes to be the murder of his foster father. Until a few days ago, I didn't even know he was going to be anywhere in the vicinity -- but he pointed out that it would have been himself, not the count's son, who would have been at his side at this point. And he's right.
And Richard Montgomery, the aforementioned count's son, and brother to my heroine, has a much more complicated relationship with his father than I had realized. The utter, unswerving loyalty of my initial drafts of the ending isn't accurate. And he has some very mixed feelings about stepping into his father's role as count. Then again, after his father's death he thinks his sister is a murderess -- or at least complicit in murder -- so it's not like he wants her to have the title either.
And how would the captain of a guard pursue an investigation of a killing -- murder or not -- in a city under the Queen's Peace? Especially when the only suspect they can get their hands on is already a prisoner in the custody of one of the queen's most trusted allies?
Concentrating on the story questions makes me feel better. I just wish I had the time to go away alone with just my notebook and my laptop and write for a day or two.
My daughter, as I'm sure I've mentioned before, is the only grandchild on both sides of the family, and therefore the recipient of far too many gifts from doting grandparents, even after I beg them to stop showering her with "stuff." And a lot of it is just "stuff." She used to have a room upstairs that was literally just piled high with stuff. There wasn't even any room to play. It got cleaned out when the SO and her twins moved in and my Ex needed the room. She got rid of a lot of stuff: some that was broken was thrown away, other stuff was given to charity. But she still has a lot, and it all moved in downstairs with me. I've never quite recovered from it. We're still working on going through it, finding good ways to store what she wants to keep and releasing as much as possible.
Add to that clutter my own clothing and the assorted things that used to live stored in my bedroom closet which are now living in my kitchen and living room because the closet project is taking far longer than the month that my friend initially quoted to me. The good news here is that he should be coming by tonight to put the hanging rod and the shelves back up, so I should be able to put all of it back where it belongs.
But lately I feel like we're drowning in stuff, choking in it. We're both getting better at releasing it, both of us letting go of unnecessary stuff, but it's a slow process.
At work I'm starting to feel resentful again when anyone asks me to do anything. What's the matter with you people? Can't you do anything yourselves? is not a healthy attitude for an assistant whose job it is to provide administrative support for a large group. And it feels like Miss V is trying to manage me again -- but it may be I'm hypersensitive right now.
The novel is moving, which is good -- but it gets complicated when characters who used to be cut-outs suddenly have lives and minds of their own. They look at the scenes I have written for them, then turn to me with expressions of dismay and say, "What? You want me to do that? I don't think so!" And so scenes I thought finished are thrown up into the air.
For example, Reg Stanley, who used to have a single walk-on scene early on the story as a simple plot device puppet, now has a background and an emotional life and figures prominently in the first part of a two-part climax. And maybe becomes a major player in an earlier dramatic episode. And now he's telling me in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't just sit there and let the town guard investigate what he believes to be the murder of his foster father. Until a few days ago, I didn't even know he was going to be anywhere in the vicinity -- but he pointed out that it would have been himself, not the count's son, who would have been at his side at this point. And he's right.
And Richard Montgomery, the aforementioned count's son, and brother to my heroine, has a much more complicated relationship with his father than I had realized. The utter, unswerving loyalty of my initial drafts of the ending isn't accurate. And he has some very mixed feelings about stepping into his father's role as count. Then again, after his father's death he thinks his sister is a murderess -- or at least complicit in murder -- so it's not like he wants her to have the title either.
And how would the captain of a guard pursue an investigation of a killing -- murder or not -- in a city under the Queen's Peace? Especially when the only suspect they can get their hands on is already a prisoner in the custody of one of the queen's most trusted allies?
Concentrating on the story questions makes me feel better. I just wish I had the time to go away alone with just my notebook and my laptop and write for a day or two.