I was watching my local team's football game the other night. The quarterback was having a rough time of it. I thought of writing. Odd, huh? Everything gravitates back to writing, doesn't it?
I watched each play. Some worked; some didn't. I know the coaches put the playbook together after a lot of thought and work, using their wealth of experience. They finalized their playbook and send their teams out to win. But they don't always win. Some plays just aren't right.
The same is true for me. Really, probably for all writers. I write a scene and see how it works in the chapter, in the book, in the world. If it feels right, I go with it. If it doesn't, I sometimes go with it anyhow. There are different reasons why I go for it, but I think it all boils down to fear. Not sure what else to do, or where to go with it if it doesn't work.
The inciting incident in Book One worked for me. But it felt weak. Every time I'd go back and look at it, I'd shudder inside. 'Not quite right,' my heart chants. But my mind says, 'Yeah. Whatever. Don't know what else to do and this works.'
Lying in bed tonight, going over this rough spot, it came to me. I knew what I could do to make it better. Make it turn into a believable, exciting, and heart-stopping inciting incident. Whoo hoo!
I keep telling myself, 'If it doesn't feel right, keep chipping away at it. Eventually the Muse will tell you what to do.' And I was right. I kept chipping away at it and the Muse finally told me where to go. *g*
I'm up and writing away, fixing Chapter Two to encompass this change. It works. I'm sending it off to my editor to get her impressions, but I'm almost 100% sure she's going to come back with a 'well done.'
The unsatisfied feeling should have been like a klaxon in my brain, warning me that I needed to change things. I have done it for certain words, but not always for the big picture. Glad I let the Klaxon keep sounding.
Life is grueling.