Now begins the part of this process that is making me depressed and making my brain hurt. I’m outlining. Hopefully I’ll get through the entire Sunstone outline, all 3 or 4 books (whichever I decide upon though 3 is appealing more at the moment), but it’s unlikely. I just need to get through the outline for book 1 by the end of the day Friday.
Here’s where I’ve put myself into depression mode: I’m outlining in detail what I’ve already written, scene by scene (sort of) and I really get it affirmed to me more and more that I need to just basically cut 6 of the 9 or 10 chapters I’ve written so far. I really should just start over from scratch on Saturday when I kick into 2,000 words a day mode, but I can’t do it. I want to get this book written, no matter how crappy and horrible it is, and starting over makes me feel like I won’t get it done in the month of August like I’ve allotted. (I’ve been working on this for 7 or 8 years now and I’d like to feel some sort of sense of accomplishment.)
Meantime, I sit here outlining, still not really knowing where my plot is going. I’m outlining it in this way:
Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Scene by scene, chapter by chapter. It’s going to get really rough when I get into the portions I haven’t written yet.
Reading all of The Plot Thickens really drives home that I do need to start in a different spot and get rid of 80,000 words (maybe that’s an exaggeration). But there are so many characters I love in those first six chapters and there are so many little things that I think I meant to be important, little subplots that will be crucial in later volumes, etc., that I’m struggling right not to figure out where they’ll fit in should I eliminate all that pretext, that isn’t really pretext but important plot setup that should be covered.
Now to go and make sense of al my Sunstone notes that I’ve garnered over the years and try to nail down the rest of my plot and finish the outline. New deadline for outlining: TODAY.
There are some other things that I have to write that are precursor to what I’ll be writing in the novel, but will show up in the novel.
Time is slowly dripping away from me. I feel like the clocks in Dali’s The Persistence of Memory.