The book is moving. I am farther along than I thought, but it seems to go so slowly. Slowly enough, in fact, that writing by hand between gusts at Day Job feels faster than sitting at the computer and typing.

What’s Wrong?

Nothing. Well, OK, if I am honest, I am letting a lot of stuff get between me and the book. Which isn’t a great way to get the thing finished, since I’m probably a third done, perhaps a bit more. I’m used to writing more quickly, to words flowing fast in a familiar world, just adding some details here and there. It’s been a long time in writer years since I built a world from scratch, especially one this complex-for-me. I can’t lean on well-known words, concepts, and on historical shorthand that most people are sort of familiar with. So that slows the writing, at least for me.

Two, as I mentioned before, I didn’t have a driving motivation for the protagonist. He was comfortable in his rut. Mentally comfortable, that is, not always physically comfortable. I didn’t realize that, because I was so busy world building that character building came a distant second. Now that’s been stirred, and I have the motivation to(once we get there), and the sacrifices he’s going to have to think about making. Especially since he has the power and training to just shrug, say, “Well, these things happen,” and move on when time comes. Except he doesn’t, or he’d better not, or people will wall the book so hard that brick-layers and sheetrock repair specialists will send me thank-you gifts.

Three, this book is not getting written entirely in sequence. I’m doing a scene here, and a bit of poetry there, and then fitting the pieces together and smoothing out the joints. Which takes time, and slows down the work, even as it gets words onto the page. As I write bits and pieces, I have to keep their rough location in mind, so I can tuck them into the proper slots in the master manuscript. Thanks be that I’m a fast transcriber, since I can touch-type while looking at the written pages.

Four, did I mention poetry? The character lives and breathes and sleeps poetry and stories, so I have to learn what sorts of poetry he’d perform, and the kinds of stories, and incorporate that into the book. Of course, because my Muse hates me, the closest analogues are some of the most complicated poetic styles in any western language, so I have to figure out how to get the sense into English. Anglo-Saxon alliterative styles are fun compared to some of the high bardic “art” poetry this guy would be able to toss off when challenged. I’m not going that far, because English doesn’t allow it, for one, and two, the verses are not the goal of the book. Or again, book, walls, collision ensues.

If there’s anything useful for other writers here, it is that sometimes you have to accept that speed is not going to happen. Life (or LIFE) gets in the way, characters don’t cooperate, you have skills you need to learn before you can do what you want to do with the story, and other things. Sometimes, hares need a squirt of Turtle Wax™.

Slowly, semi-steadily, the story unfolds. I am gaining skills and learning a lot, so there’s that. I don’t like working hard. I want to stay in my nice, familiar, easy rut, doing … what … I’m … comfortable …

Muse, why are you pointing and laughing as you roll on the floor?!?