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bear by san

March 2017



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rengeek kit icarus

and I'm gone like I'm dancing on angels


I was right when I decided that Dust is a big book chunked up into thirds.

I can tell, because I just hit The Dreaded Middle Of The Book.

On page 295 of Pinion. As I am being faced by a bad moment of "but wait, this makes no sense!" combined with a certain amount of  "So how do I tie up most of these plot threads while leaving enough of a hook behind for the next book to railcar into?"

Yeah, Sanction is going to be fun.

(Just keep throwing cool stuff at the page and maybe nobody will notice that you have no freaking idea what you are doing. Also, remember that your subconscious is much better at all this than your front brain, and it knows how the story should go, and if you give it a chance it will find ways to tell you.)


You know, it always makes me feel so much better to read these bits of in progressy writing things in your journal (in the once every three weeks I catch up on my flist). I can't really explain it. I think it's just so reassuring on a few different levels to see you approach it so practically and see that you have all of these same sorts of neuroses and hang-ups and bad days and middles and such. And so my hind-brain thinks, "Hey, she has middles of the book too! And yet she finishes the book and the book is good. You could do this too!"

And that concludes my regularly scheduled "Tuesday Random Fannish Internet Gush On Admired Author."
Hee. Secritly, this is why I do it.

The blog I write is the one I wished somebody was writing when I was trying to become a published person. And I figured, once I was a published person, that it would be nice if I wrote that blog.

Sometimes I feel like Penn & Teller explaining the magic trick. But yanno. Anything you can do to de-romanticize art is a good thing.