After the brou-haha of WorldCon died down, I was super motivated to buckle down and finish the novel. I’d started it last year, only to leave it wallowing in a horrific state of half-finished-draft to focus on short stories.
But there was a problem.
There were many problems, actually: I’d made it too big, too busy, and realised I tried to cram too much into it.
“Holy Balls, Batman,” I said to myself (as my cat is still currently on vacay at my parent’s due to her houdini-like abilities when it comes to her carrier.) “What was I thinking?”
And so, I read over the plot outlines, poked at plot holes, and cut characters. Mid-dissection I realised the last third of the plot just… didn’t work. Elements of it did, but I’d have to go about restructuring most of it.
And by restructuring I mean ‘rewriting’.
And by ‘rewriting’ I mean Rewriting.
I had a stiff drink, then another before I dug out the plot-machete, and started hacking away at the frankenstien-like plot. It cried, I cried, it was horrible. And liberating.
What’s left is a proper story, with stakes and character development and spies.
The working Title is still shit though.
…but that can wait until I’m done (re)writing the damn thing.