It’s enough to drive a girl nuts. I’m trying to finish Joss. I’m trying really hard. But I ran into a damned wall.
That’s not exactly a new occurrence. Sooner or later, I run into a wall in every book. But I think I’d convinced myself this time–since I was so close to the end–this time I was going to make it through. I’d got it down, got it right, all I had to do was hang onto Joss and he’d drag me to the end.
Only I’m in Zeke’s POV. And I ran into a damned wall. Changing POVs didn’t work. I need Zeke’s. Writing by hand didn’t help. Free-writing, word wars, threats from my writer friends–nothing. I was well and truly stuck.
Then after three days, I’m hanging out in a chatroom full of writer friends, and we’re flinging craziness back and forth, and with encouragement I go and open the document and reach for that Joss place in the back of my head.
And that son of a bitch is drunk. Long past dancing on the bar, he’s wearing one sock and nothing else, mumbling how I’m a true friend as I try to pick his stinky, sticky, bare ass out from under the table.
I was furious. Mad as hell. How dare he go get drunk while I’m trying so hard? A couple more scenes, and then he could have had the party to end all parties, and I wouldn’t have cared except to bang on the wall when he got too loud.
But no. Drunk off his ass, and what was I supposed to do now?
Slowly, though, so slowly–as in a couple more days of writing time wasted, I started to see. And I cussed my voices more. Stupid muses. Couldn’t tell me five pages and five days ago that I was going the wrong way. No. They let me run into that wall. Then they let me stew for days, then gave me a drunken MC.
Couldn’t they just have said, “Hey. Zeke will never figure it out on his own, and Joss won’t tell him willingly. But get him drunk and he’ll slip up just enough. One comment, and then the ninjas, and it all snaps together.”
Oh no. Couldn’t make it fucking easy, could they?
Bastards. Makes me wonder whose side they’re on.