The Emotional Stages of Writing

Another funny post by Chuck Wendig, over at Terrible Minds. You should really read the whole thing, so click through.

I think I’ve hit every stage at one time or another. Erased 100 pages? Yep, done that. (Twice.)

Oh, wait, not this one:

9. Oh, Crap, None Of This Makes Sense At All

That terrible moment when you realize the entirety of your story hinges on a thing that doesn’t make any sense. It’s not a plothole so much as the hole in a well-tied plot-noose. If the character on page ten would just do the logical sensible thing and throw away the Doomed Widget of Kjarn, the entire book falls apart. You realize suddenly that everything hangs on a broken hinge, the whole conflict held fast to some kind of Escherprint logic that throws the whole tale into the fucking woodchipper. “Wait, the main character could’ve just pushed a button in the first act that would’ve solved the whole thing? OH GODDAMNIT.”

I’m glad to say that this one, no. I depend on my clever beta readers to make absolutely sure I NEVER have this particular problem, at least not in the finished story! But I don’t think I have ever actually done this. Yet.

24. Everything Just Clicked

Hear that sound? It’s the sound of dominoes falling together in a neat line — it’s like the playing card in a child’s bicycle spokes. Everything clicks. Everything works. Everything makes sense. You don’t know if it’s good or right or how much you’ll have to fix but none of that matters. Because it all feels right and your march to the end of this story feels suddenly ineluctable — forward progress is now unstoppable. You can do this.

Now that’s what we wait for.

The ending of Miguel’s short story just clicked for me. Now I need to go write it. If I can find the time. Because it may be spring break so I am not at work today, but a) beautiful weather, must take dogs hiking; b) must update anaracavaliers website; c) I bet little Bug is about to wake up and I need to take him outside and let him potty and play and then coax him to try a few bits of solid food, plus I also need to try to take pictures because he is six weeks today, if you count from his C-section date; d) do you know how long it’s been since I really looked in on Twitter?; e) at some point I need to start loading the guests posts for next week’s Andrea K Höst Week into WordPress and fiddling with them to make sure they look good.

By the way, Folly “missed.” She is not pregnant, despite doing progesterone tests to make sure the timing was good. I am angry and upset and actually kind of relieved. What the hell, it’s only another $1000 down the drain, that’s almost like not losing money compared to the financial losses for Giedre’s litter. The stud owner has made it clear I can ask for another try with a different bitch whenever I like. I don’t know. Maybe it would not actually be insane to try that with Honey in a year when she is old enough. I would not ordinarily choose to breed her to a wholecolor dog. But, well, when you think about it, her grandfather is almost 18, which is amazing and wonderful and spectacular and tremendous; and The Prez would be 10 and he seems to be on track to have that kind of vigor and longevity if any dog anywhere might, so if he is any kind of match for her in type and beauty, well, he might not be a bad choice as far as health goes. Plus, talk about a total, complete outcross. I doubt they have a common ancestor for twenty generations. Heck, I bet you can run right back to 1950 and hardly hit a common ancestor. And with my pedigree program, I can actually go look.


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