Rough Roads

For some reason the super fun, super random, super easy story is super hard to write. I'm way behind on word count, and the story is dragging like it's trying to pull lead weights through the Swamp of Sadness.

I have all these great ideas, about divergent timelines, but they have to happen later, or I'll run out of ideas later, instead of running out of ideas now. I mean, I have divergent timelines, and alternate realities, and time loops, and a potentially haunted cooler, and none of it's happening right now.

Why?

Even though it's NaNoWriMo, which is basically a license to write nonsense now and deal with it later, I keep feeling like I'm not ready to write the "good parts" of the story. Which is utter horse shit. No time like the present, right?

So I'm going to cut this short and get back to writing. But allow me to leave you with a little something. This is the beginning of Chapter Two, when I was already desperate for words. This is what I have become.

They crossed out of New York without further incident or captive gods. Everything was going to be normal now. Clearly, the weirdness was behind them. Wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

The thing is, weirdness is like algae. It clumps together. You see one little strand of green goo, and it turns out it’s attached to five feet of equally gooey green goo. It wraps around your hand and crawls up your arm, and the next thing you know, you’re encased in slimy pond scum. You’re the creature from the black lagoon. That’s right, the monster is you.

Suffice it to say, more weirdness was to come.

I'll see you Friday, with more weirdness.