I'm exhausted and frankly, even that isn't all that interesting. But it's that middle ground of winter and I'm sick of it. Most especially as this has been a particularly unusual winter. There aren't many where you can look outside and see no snow on the deck. Of course all this warm then cold then warm again weather has made the streets rather deadly. There hasn't been a lot of snow and what there has been should have had Hollywood on speed dial - yes, the fake looking stuff that isn't fake at all. Let's say my left elbow is getting a workout - wiped out for the second time this month and have the fine art of landing on your elbow and not your head, mastered. Considering all the patches of ice I've been dancing over on my walks - that's not too bad. Isn't it? Shouldn't I be able to shuffle-hop my way over yet another icy, downhill driveway or do the skip-hop recovery on the unexpected rink lying beneath that pretty white fluff of snow cover? I was beginning to feel like maybe it was just me and I needed more time spent in a yoga tree position but then I saw the dog doing a four-legged dance of his own.
So what else isn't interesting? Frankly - soggy middles. Not people, books. People, not so great either but that's a topic for another post and in mid-winter, a touchy subject for most of us winter clime people. Nope, what I'm talking about is the literary soggy middle. The result of a second, third or even what you tentatively called a last draft. Just because the end was written, once, twice or even three times - doesn't mean the end.
Seriously, I've never written the end. Okay, maybe once - the first time round just to see how it looked. Not that great, it looked better after delete. The end, spelled out and finalized is about as interesting as a soggy middle. I'd rather hit the period - one return and save - take a break and on to the next idea. Or in this case, on to the problem where all the action bogged down. Action? Wait, there lies the problem. There is none. Not in those middle chapters. The characters are just hopping from one venue to another seemingly oblivious to any and all around them.
So it's back to a rewrite, hurl a hurdle or two or even three into that calm little lull my characters were quietly enjoying. They were quiet about their hiatus - more than likely afraid that if they made any noise I'd be alerted to the situation. So they've enjoyed their reprieve. But it's time to get their running shoes on and get to work. You wanted to what? Enjoy that nice lunch - delete! Time to what? Have a conversation about the state of the world - delete?
So while my characters aren't too happy - they'll thank me in the end, when maybe they actually do get a chance to rest, talk and catch up. Of course they'll have to write their own pages for that, in their own book.
And frankly - in the end - it's going to be a lot more interesting. Or so I hope.
Meantime, it's time to get out there and walk. I heard soggy middles are an occupational hazard and I want to head mine off at the pass.