I love to write. I love to write. I love to write.
I love this trilogy. I love this trilogy. I love this trilogy.
Both of those things are true, but right now…?
There are a couple of quotes that fit well right now.
“Indecision is the basis of flexibility.”
“In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.”
(“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot)
This trilogy is making me extremely flexible because it has a lot of those minutes.
First there is Book One where a deviation from my outline has me writing a second version of part of it so I can decide which one I like better.
Book Two more or less behaved itself, other than the fact that it is way too short so is going to need some beefing up when I start the rewrite.
Book Three has been going along quite nicely until a couple nights ago.
I wrote a scene and was ready to move on. Then at work last night I jotted down a note to insert a bit of dialogue, and when I was home and started on my thousand words for the day, that bit of dialogue pretty much changed the entire scene, so now I have two versions of it to sort out, right?
Wrong. Something in the second version prompted a third version (which I will probably write after work tonight).
Seriously? What is wrong with me? Three versions of the same scene?
I think my current plot bunnies are showing signs of inbreeding.