Today at approximately 10:47 am, I received a blow so devastating, I was still for many minutes. I was out in my garage, writing as usual. I had been working on some scenes I knew would in the end either be cut or shortened, but I let them go on, knowing my muse needed to get them out. It was only my pre-first draft in longhand, so I wasn't terribly worried.
I finally got to a scene that was rather important, a message from one ruler to another about their armies location and numbers, offering assistant in a coming battle. Something felt off, and I couldn't shake the feeling as it became harder and harder to get words on paper.
And then I felt it.
You know how cartoon characters get hit and sometimes cracks appear all over their bodies, then shatter, scattering on the ground?
That. Thats what I felt.
So many things had been working perfectly together, until I began counting days, characters, numbers. Everything was wrong. But if I changed even one thing to try and fix it, I couldn't see how to blend the rest to fit. I'd forgotten that both my main races were rather prolific, though only one had a proper army. That the offending army was ridiculously small and ill trained, a ragtag team thrown together from the dredges of the lands outside my world. So why in heaven would the 'good' army not simply surround the 'bad' army, instead of letting the 'bad' army attempt to lay siege on the capital? Why even would the traitor running this army attack the ruler to take over, instead of just poisoning the one man and installing himself as ruler, without the fear of ruining buildings and food storage or killing the citizens he hopes to rule? Why this? Why that? WHY?
I don't know the answer. At least, not yet. I'm still broken from the realization that so much of my work seems obsolete. I cried, horrified that I hadn't seen this problem before I had gotten too deep into actually writing the problem spots. I've had to put my husband on Full Pamper Alert - he turned off his XBOX, put on Spongebob, cuddled me when I needed it, and is drawing me a bath. He went out to get me Level 4 Depression Junk Food, and didn't even ask for some of the onion rings I jacked from him.
I know if I let my mind wander, my subconscious can work out all the mistakes. I need to stop aggressively thinking about the problem, and only idly pull apart the two main plot lines to see what I can or should recover, and play with what's left over. This is something that can't be forced - so much needs to be reworked, that no amount of blasting or climbing can get me past this mountain. I have to let magic or erosion either move the mountain or make it into a molehill. My instincts are to fight, but I am certain if I do, it will be to the ultimate demise of it all.
So, I am off to my bubble bath, not a hint of my muse playlist or a wink from my journals, a glass of wine in my hand. Its time for me to RELAX.
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