Wednesday, February 25, 2009
regretting the mission impossible
The truth is this: It was a tragically boring escape. Our apologies.—Peter David, Tigerheart
Okay. I knew this “three-weeks’-work-in-one!” was a stupid idea. I knew it was crazy. I knew it was going to hurt, a lot.
That’s all proving to be true. My mind is numb after logging 8759 words this week so far.
And all my teams are failing me: the characters have showed up on Stage One, but none of them know their lines. My reliably funny characters are out of quips, the scary ones just look abashed, and the heroine has a headache. My set design crew is woefully behind. (“Could we just use cardboard cutouts and stand-ins?” they ask, wanting a smoking break. No, I tell them. No, we can’t.) And my plot think tank—well. They’ve scattered, driven to Mexico the moment I told them we were cramming this week full.
The only team with me heart and soul is the catering crew. I have a date with some fine pie crust in one hour.
So what keeps me clinging to Monday’s decision (despite common sense and plain exhaustion)? I still can’t bear the thought of taking three weeks for the rest of Part One. So there’s no going back, is there?
I stacked my reward books in a pile on my desk, the Guernsey Potato book, and Billy Collins’ latest, as well as five travelogues. (And my ears are straining for the library’s phone call, to say that the ten ordered books are in…)
Between promised books and coffee and sheer bullheadedness, I should get this thing written. It won’t be pretty. But hey—that’s what revision is for.—jl