All right, so

[tocryabout]

I've been having a lot of trouble with this story. I wasn't sure how exactly I wanted/needed things to unfold, which is (partly) why this chapter took so long. After awhile, just the fact that it was difficult was becoming a problem, and I needed to just get it OUT and move on. It was either release this chapter as is or give up on writing this story.

So this chapter is ugly, like a boxcutter-and-ballpoint-pen tracheotomy is ugly. But it has saved the story's life. I can keep going now, hopefully with a bit more style and insouciance and such.

This is the weird thing about writing this way; you're not reading a first draft, but you're not reading something polished and completed either. If I were presenting you with something finished, I probably wouldn't talk about it so much -- I wouldn't spend as much time defending my intentions and explaining myself, and I'd just figure that if people didn't get it then I LOSE as the writer. And you might as well be a good loser. But we're a bit earlier on in the process, so I talk to you guys.

Chapter 10: Let the Watchman Count on Daybreak

Read from the beginning

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Addendum:

[to-cry-about.livejournal.com]

You know what it is? I think I HATE PLOT. That is, I hate writing action stuff like this where people are going in and out of places and being in danger and there's no time for meandering introspection or deep conversation or farts. I hate those situations in real life and I hate writing them too. My ideal novel is probably a fucking Charlie Rose broadcast or a really emo Socratic dialogue, but that's the way it is.