waitress

My ex(?)-stalker
is in this class
with me.

He's a scarey
scarey little child
and I don't
like him.

All of my stories this morning, anything I try to write is devolving into the sort of stamping feet, name calling, screaming conflict that one sees in Jr. High. Except that I'm writing about mature adults, so that doesn't work, so much. I really wish the words would come to me. I'm writing a seduction piece in one window that I've got all planned out in my head. The other window has a thriller/action/adventure that I've been working on all of this week, and that, so far, has come rather well. Today, I'm just writing conflict, and then errasing it. My characters are acting irrationally, without thought on my part or theirs. Nothing's coming together. All the words sound forced and ake and they're bringing me back to a time about four years ago when every sentence had to have the same structure, and everyone either 'said, screamed or muttered' and everything was 'hard, soft, flat or rough' and second person writing wasn't even a thought in my mind and run on sentences like this would have made me run screaming in fear. That's all I wrote, back then. Conflict of the Jr. High variety. That is why my novel's not being finished, ever. I look back, and my characters have grown up about sixteen years in the course of five chapters, and then I realize that that's because I started the thing in February of 2002 and now it's 2005, almost 2006 and I've grown a lot, too. My characters need some stability. They can't resolve everything by having temper tantrumes and sneering and yelling and brandishing guns at anything that moves. Such offenses as stealing a shuttle aren't forgiven without a second thought, and anti-terrorist organizations don't go eighty years without being detected on a space station that's only been in orbit for a hundred. It. just. doesn't. work.

And Greg he writes letters
And burns his CDs
They say you were something
In those formitive years.

Well hold on to nothing
As fast as you can
Still
Pretty good year.

(Tori Amos, Pretty Good Year)