A warm old summer’s tail, and certain other events, have kept me out and about, away from my writing. Which is but a bare excuse for what really held me back from it. None other than my own trepidation.
My plan was to work on Proteus. Bad idea. That little “tale within the tale” had already grown well beyond me back when I still wrote it. Marie’s odyssey seems more like a distant echo from the past, to me now. Much as it would to the characters in my central story, which is apt. I’ve truly no idea how I’ll finish it, or when. And yet I can’t shake off the sense that it is vital, nor do I want to. Wherever it goes.
But enough of wandering sidelines. As some dude once said:
If you can do anything, you will do nothing.
And so I have.
Sometimes nothing is not so bad. Because, as summer went, the vital distance between me and my first draft of Alpha grew as silently as the night. I have something now I didn’t a month or two ago. Sweet oblivion! I won’t trigger as many rich memories while I read, of what I meant to write. I can read what I actually did.
I’m about to start the great edit. Which means I’m about to start the great read, first of all. I’ll settle down, the unluckiest reader in the world, to experience Alpha in its roughest, creaky, ill-considered glory. And I’ll dwell with the awful realisation that it is just as I describe! I’ll take notes, and I’ll hack away, but first I think the best tack is to simply read. Let my grand battle with myself take place on a field I first bothered to behold. No doubt this will be a torturous kind of fun!
Here’s a yardstick, before I go in. My guess is the less I like what I’m about to find, the better it will be. The worst is to still be in love with your darlings, while you slash the knife.