Geek Guide to Life A User Manual for Optimized Living in an Unparsed String Theory of Alternative Realities . . .

I’ve Fallen Into My Novel

. . . and I don't want to climb out.

I feel like pieces of me are just sitting out there, waiting for me to get my butt back in the novelist's chair. Part of me holds pieces of scenes; dangling at the end of strings; stuck like floss in the folds of my brain; just waiting for me to reel them in again into the gray matter so I can squish them into shape and properly channel them through my fingertips as words.

My ability to be a retail store owner has plummeted. At this time of year, this is not a good thing.  I'm planning to cross the 50,000 word NaNoWriMo barrier on Sunday, my next day off from the day job.  Technically, I'm at work right now, but can't seem to convince my brain to come back online.  Instead, most of that silly organ sits ensconced at a breakfast discussion with three of my characters as they try to come to grips with events which have left one of them bruised both physically and emotionally, and quite possibly made him at least a little batty.  Part of it is looking for a character who's just plain gone missing, and another part is with another who has entered another realm, not unlike myself; and it's not too sure of the time-line, again, not unlike myself.

Oh, and I'm loving it.  I love every skein of the threads and every turn I see in the road ahead of each of my characters; I love the settings, and the sounds; love the struggles and the emotions; and most of all, I love the wonder that writing is at least as fun as reading, now. And I want to go back. I don't want to be sitting here, writing about it as a feeble attempt to extricate myself for a few hours to do something 'useful' and hopefully profitable. I'd so much rather dive all the way back into my novel and not climb out again until it's done.