Ignore this post at will. Just blabbering.


AAAARRRRGH!

You know, this novella I'm writing--at ten thousand words now and still climbing--is driving me fucking insane!

It's been a bear to write, coming out in one and two thousand word increments, at best. But I've been plugging along, getting my two pages a day in come hell or high water, waiting for the end to come into focus and to help me finish this bloody long tale.

And then--AND THEN!--the damn thing usurps my authorial prerogative and throws me a loop. I'm writing the scene this morning, look down at what I've written, and realize that the story has just taken a turn I didn't want, didn't forsee, didn't expect.

So I yelled at my computer. I told it that in no way was this story going to go this direction. I told it that I was the writer, not it, and that it couldn't just take over my story at the ten-thousand word mark no matter what it thought!

I think the ms. smirked at me. I swear it did. This isn't some silly writer's flight of fancy, no. It mocked me in no uncertain terms. The words are still ringing in my ears.

For a little while, its abuse brought me to a point where I felt less of a person.

I think we've reached a detente now. The story is going to stay the way the story wants it to stay, and I'm going to do my best to make it work.

Sigh.

I hate it when this happens.

Joseph Haines, signing off from The Edge of The Abyss.