News

There is no joy in Mudville, Mighty Casey has struck out. If you don’t know the poem, look it up. Tired, so tired I can’t see straight. The first time I ever remember being this tired was when Trinity was only a few weeks, or months old, I know under three months. Back when she slept maybe three, four hours at a time, and one of us had to get up with her. Thank God I didn’t breast feed so my first husband and I were able to divide the baby care more evenly. Oh, and any men out there bragging that they never had to change a diaper on their own kids, you are all wimps. I’ve been threatened with a gun, been in martial arts, had my leg broken in two places and cracked in another along with a second degree burn, and none of it was as unrelentingly hard as caring for a small baby. Nothing has ever been that grueling before or since, but this book is close.
All you parents out there remember going to movies where when the lights went down you couldn’t remember what movie you’d come to see. You were just so happy to be out of the house and being able to behave like a grown-up that it didn’t really matter what movie it was. You had a few hours of precious freedom; if you could stay awake. The last two times Jonathon and I went out to a movie, I couldn’t remember what we’d decided to see, that should have been a hint. But sometimes I’m slow, or is that stubborn?
This book is whipping my ass, and not in a fun way. If I push myself this weekend, and I mean push, then maybe, just maybe, I can be done by Monday. Trinity is with us this weekend, so that makes it harder. One, I’d like to see her. Two, she’s just not an entirely self-entertaining child. Jonathon will do his best, but Trinity has always been a mommy’s girl.
And let me just say that I know I’m making Jonathon’s life hard. I’m never a low maintence person, though a lot of my high maintence is closer to a high maintence man than a high maintence woman. But either way, it’s not always easy to live with. I am aware of that. Jonathon earned his paycheck and his couple browning points this last weekend. I wrote ten pages long hand, but I was simply unable to compose on the computer. Writing that much by hand hurt my arm, of course. But what else am I to do? Jonathon, bless his heart, sat with me in the dining room, just to keep me company. Like needing a friend to go with you into the lion’s den.
Why is this book so hard? Well, one thing is that I’ve spent four books trying to write Merry as if her series is structured like Anita’s series, and it isn’t. Merry is pieces of a whole. Her story was never conceived to be whole and complete each book, but every book I try to pound her into a kind of book I’m used to writing. Four books in the characters are more alive than ever, and the world, but the pace and structure of the books is still giving me fits. I now know not to set myself the task of a series where I know what’s going to happen all the way down the road. I write, in a great part, to find out what happens next. I write so I can read it. If I already know what’s going to happen, all of it, or ninety percent of it, then all that’s left for me as a reader is make sure the writing is the best writing it can be. As a writer that is much less satisfying to me than writing as fast as I can to try and catch up with my muse. So I’ve learned something about myself as a writer, but I’ve learned it a little late. I am committed to Merry and her story, and I am committed to the over all story arc. If Merry, or I, could figure out a way to live happily ever after and not be Queen of fairie, we’d take it. But even if she was willing to give the court over to Cel, he’d never rest easy while she was alive. Look at real human history. A legitimate, or even partly legitimate contender for a throne, that could be used as a rallying point against the king or queen had a short life expectancy. It’s just bad politics to leave your rival alive. Cel has a lot of faults, being that careless is not one of them.
I’m going back to work now. Merry’s starting to write better at night. Maybe, Darla’s right, by night fall I’m so tired that I can get out of my own way better.