Until I had an idea while in the shower this afternoon. And retained it, through sheer force of will (not easy, since I worked nights this past week), until I had towelled off and gone upstairs. And wrote it down, and more besides.

It feels so good, even if my handwriting is illegible at times.

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Alexis wonders where her father is now. He did call earlier, but didn’t say if he’d come home. He does, most nights. Some nights he doesn’t come home at all, and that’s all right, Alexis figures. He is a grown man,and he has his needs – and it’s surprising the thought doesn’t skeeve her out anymore – and he plays it safe, here if not in other areas of his life. It’s when he’s out with Detective Beckett, like now, that she worries. Will he stay out of trouble? Detective Beckett will do her best, but her father is sometimes too much for any one person to handle. Alexis sighs, and returns her attention to her calculus. The numbers comfort her, as they always do. They bring order to the chaotic world around her. She remains hard at work until he comes home. He ruffles her hair, makes some smart-alec remark about all work and no play, then sees her off to bed. He doesn’t say where he’s been, not now. He appears to be deep in thought, and she figures he’ll tell her about this case tomorrow. As much as he can.She has read all his books, and knows that the world isn’t safe, but hearing about it over breakfast is different. Despite that, she falls asleep easily. She is safe here.

She’s smiling, as she stands next to her father when he gets the award for his Storm-novels. By this time her cheeks are cramping up, but she doesn’t mind. He deserves it. If she squints, she can make out grandma and Gina back at their table. Alexis hopes they find this as much fun as she does. All is missing is Owen. The name still makes her stomach flip. Boys shouldn’t be this cute.

Currently at 50,226 words.

I know you are angry at Kate. She was acting spineless and like a wimp. Still, you need to help her, or else the plot’ll just fall apart. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?

The author.

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Dear author,

Why should I help Kate solve her messes? She’s old enough to do so herself. She should be old enough to do so, anyway.

Elsie

*

Dear Elsie,

Because I said so.

The author

*

Dear author,

I am not spineless. It is just not my fault, so why should I solve it?

Kate

*
Dear Kate,

Because I said so. And it is your fault, don’t try and duck your responsibilities.

The author

*

Dear Inner Editor,

Take a break already.

The author.

*

Dear author,

Shan’t.

The Inner Editor

In my current WIP, I knew quite early on there would be a lesbian-angle. See my shouting-match with my FMC. And now I went and wrote out her first time. With blushing, and cringing, and trying to be not flowery or use euphemisms. I felt way out of my comfort-zone, but I did manage to get there. As did the FMC.

Will I do this again soon? I doubt it. It’s a lot of effort for me right now, and I think that for now I’ll be better off spending that same effort on just making progress with the rest of the story. Who knows, later on maybe.

Fiend, why did you change who you were masquerading as?
Same goes for Ameena. Make up your mind, woman. Angel. Whatever.

At least the lesbian-angle sems to have survived. But I foresee some massive rewriting later on.

Exasperated, the author.

And the past couple of days I have been writing. Not much, a couple of hundred words per day, but writing steadily nonetheless.

I am so out of ideas right now.

Yes, I did write 449 words today on a plotbunny that bit me after listening to Pseudopod’s The Undoing (warning, bit graphic when it comes to surgical procedures), but that does not a novel make.

I was talking about NaNo, and that I had no clue what to write about, or whether I even wanted to participate this year. He said “There’s nine days before you come over here. I want you to come up with three outlines for NaNo by then.”

This was yesterday. I have two already.