I’m getting nowhere. This is three days of getting nowhere. My voices are sabotaging me, I think.
This book ends badly. I mean, one of my beloved characters (not sure if I’ve named names before, so I’ll be cagey now and hope I haven’t–note to self, go search) has to die. I have tried and tried to find a way around that, and I can’t. It is how this book has to end.
Naturally, my muses don’t want to write that. The closer we get to the end, the more they rebel. And they’re getting sneaky about it. Does it really matter that much what exactly Rafe says to the woman who offers to arm-wrestle Taro for him? No. As long as he turns her down, Taro won’t put her through her shop window and all will be well. So why have I spent the last three hours on that scene?
Yeah, Hope being a pain is part of it. But not all of it.
Okay, yeah, not knowing and still waiting about the house is a big part of it too. But still. I have written through some pretty damn big events in my life, I should be able to manage it now, demmit!
Enough blogging. I’m going to write that scene or bang a hole in my desk with my head. It’s going to be one or the other.
*update–I didn’t get anywhere. I also did not bang a hole in my desk. Not for lack of trying. It seems when I bought the desk I remembered my tendency to bang my hard head on inoffensive objects, and paid for solidity.