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It’s not long past dawn here. My office is still dark. I turned on a light, and turned it right back off. No lights. The dawn darkness suits my mood. Yesterday was hard. It was hard on me, and hard on everyone who works here. When Darla’s voice came over the intercom to tell me to exerscise, I screamed. Because I was so far into the book that I’d forgotten everything else. Her voice was as if someone had suddenly yanked the floor out from under me, because the room I was writing about was, for those moments, more real than the room she called me back to. I kept working, so she called again, and I yelled at her. I told everyone that if they would leave me the fuck alone I could finish this damn book. I said immediately, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, and I didn’t. I wasn’t mad at them. I was just in that white, hot, heat at the end of the book, but it wasn’t a glorious rush of inspiration. No, it was do the scene, throw it out. Redo the scene, read it to Jon, have him confirm what I feared, throw it out. I must have redone that next to last scene three, four times, back and forth, back and forth. this choice will change things later in the series. That choice will mean the police will never trust her again. This choice will get Asher executed. That choice will doom us all. This choice is less bad. I wrestled with that scene all day. I did not exercise. I did not eat lunch. I wrestled with the book, and had no idea who was winning.
Everyone gave my office a wide berth yesterday. I didn’t blame them. I was mad with frustration, and impatience. Angry with myself; angry with the book; angry with everything. Richard, our newest assistant, took the brunt of it, because one of his duties is bringing up the tea. I wanted the tea. Hell, I practically need the tea to work. Tea, or water. I’m what they call a consumer learning. I work better when I’m consuming something liquid. I’d called down for the tea, knew it was coming, but the first time he knocked on the door after I’d yelled at everybody, I snarled, “What!”
He opened the door slowly, and made certain I saw the mug in his hand, like a white flag of safety. See, I mean no harm, and no interruption. One of the reasons that Richard has the tea duty is that he’s less likely to distract me. If Jon brings it up, I have to kiss him, or touch him, I just have to. If Darla comes up, we have to chat a word or two, it’s a girl thing. Richard and I chat when the occasion calls for it, he is a very good friend, but when I need to work, really need it, he just brings the tea, and leaves me to it. He will lay a comforting hand on my shoulder, but not distract me. Not yank me out of the writing. It is probably one of his most valuable assets on days like yesterday. The other is that he doesn’t take the snarling personally. He would come in and find me either furious, or nearly weeping in frustration over my keyboard. There was no middle ground yesterday. Despair, or anger. Neither emotion had anything to do with the scene. It was my despair, my anger. I could not decide how this scene would play out. If I wrote stand alone books, it would be easy. But with a series this long, with so many books yet to come, decisions in one book can derail plots later on, or make entire story lines mute. So I fought with the scene, and myself.
I fought my desire to get the book done, at almost any cost, against the cost to Anita and her sweeties later on. This cost was too high. This too complicated. This not true to the characters. I fought. I finally beat it into a shape that was close to being done. Richard came up with one last cup of tea, and I told him to get everybody ready for lunch, and what time was it anyway. He informed me about two in the afternoon. We never do lunch this late. Most days I’d be faint with low blood sugar, but yesterday anger and confusion kept me going. It wasn’t pleasant, but I didn’t need to eat. We broke for lunch. We got us all the hell out of Dodge so we could see somewhere besides the offices.
I was finished, sort of. I finally had to skip a reaction scene from Anita. I couldn’t decide how she will feel about the aftermath of some of it. I just couldn’t decide. I tried to go back to work, but I still could not decide how it played out. Everyone urged me to leave it until today, to sleep on it. I have slept on it. I think I know how to finish, but I’m not certain. Sometimes what seems brilliant, or at least logical in your head, falls apart on paper. I don’t know, but I think, oh, I do think, that today I will be done. Today, Goddess willing, I will be done.