Scene #Sylus Escapes added to Love Spiked!
Okay, I’m on the fence on this scene, and I can’t tell if it’s because shit has just been difficult the last days or if there’s something seriously wrong with the pacing of the scene. Could be both, I dunno. I don’t think it needs to be this long…
I ran out of my immune stabilizing meds while writing it, and then by the time I got the refill, the brain fog was so bad, I just couldn’t remember what the damn point was of this scene beyond getting to the next scene. I’m going to let it go for now, move forward, and worry about it in the next draft. I’m not sure if I’m going to edit by events, or wait until I finish the entire first draft of the book before doing serious edits… The entire point of writing in events is that it’ll avoid greater edits at the end, which suggests I was drafting by events first…?
Who knows. It’ll figure itself out. Writing always does.
Sometimes I spend too long in a scene and just lose all energy, not because the scene lacks energy but because it’s all familiar to me. I need some space to be able to see it for what it is.
I feel like I need to look at how I used to approach action scenes. I don’t even know if I was any good at them—didn’t write a lot of action, after all. They always seemed far shorter than expected, and given that this scene is longer than expected, that could be a bad sign…
My cat, Arcane, is dying. He’s eighteen. We lost his brother two years ago to different health issues. We even got a little extra time with Arcane with some vet intervention to drain the accumulated fluid from his heart disease. But everything tipped right around Halloween. No appetite, he can barely swallow water—I have to hand water him cuz he can’t drink on his own. I’m not sure if he’s going to last the night, tbh. I woke to him so dehydrated, and while hand watering has helped, because of his heart condition, the fluid isn’t necessarily getting where it’s needs to to hydrate him.
He managed to climb up the pet stairs onto the bed, and I have him on a heated blanket and another blanket to prevent him getting too hot. Just watching over him, giving him syringes of water when he looks thirsty, and hoping his rest feels restful. He’s very weak and was meowing like lost earlier.
It’s sad to watch the kittens treat him like he’s a stranger, avoiding him, acting like he might attack if they get too close. I think his scent has changed or something. Maybe their instincts aren’t to comfort the dying… I dunno. He’s my little babybug, even if old and sick.
Voted. Full of dread that even though so much of the globe has gotten their shit together in the face of fascism and exploitation, that the US might still be struggling to even face the problem. Guess we’ll find out soon.
As a writer, it’s pretty easy to imagine the worst shit all the time, and call it being cautious or worse, realistic. But really it’s just trying to control fear through predicting the worst, and who the fuck wants to think about the worst things all the time? Hope is a better way to live.
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