Nice day back to work, though truncated by wicked reverse jet lag. Wrote a bit, ran out for lunch, wrote a bit more. My count was negative, simply because I was cleaning things up, but for all the head fog, at least there was forward progress. Only a few hundred words, but progress.
Beginnings are hard for me. I can't get the right flavor, tone, word choice. I struggle with the first few chapters of every book, which is a silly thing to do, because I know I'm going to go back and change things once the story really gets going. It's the same every time: I prevaricate and procrastinate, only get a hundred words here, a hundred there. It's fear and resistance; there's an element of beginnings that scare me on such a deep, subconscious level that it can be paralyzing if I'm not careful.
What am I afraid of? I'm not entirely sure. I'm not happy with the opening. I have three written, and I'm not sure which I will end up using. Which tells me I should just go on to the next scene, and worry about the perfect opening later.Tess Gerritsen once said she forgets how to write a book every time she starts a new one, and that's definitely what I'm feeling. Right now, I have 5,000 words, I know I need 100,000 more, and it's daunting as all get out. I don't feel at all settled until I'm at the 20,000 mark. Which I hope to be very soon.
I'm not going to go to bed just yet, though my body is screaming for sleep. Will have an early dinner, get to bed as early as I can, and start fresh in the morning. And I'll try to get some pics posted.