I mean, yeah, I really want to live to revise the Eddas and write Dust, but I currently feel as if I have accomplished enough with my life that I have justified my existence. The books I absolutely had to write are written. And sold, even.
Don't worry. I'm sure I'll get het up and full of fury again next week.
Man, I have to figure out what I'm cranky about for purposes of writing Dust. Can't write a book without having an argument with myself....
My failed croissants are squamous. Now I am absolutely certain I know what squamous looks like.
And the interior texture is a bit spongy, somewhere between biscuit and shortbread.
I think I'll have brussels sprouts and wild rice for dinner. I don't like brussels sprouts, but I try them every couple of years to reassure myself that I still don't like them.
On exposition: like everything else in writing, it's a tension, and a line that you will wobble back and forth over a thousand times while you learn your craft.
First you will not explain enough. Then you will overcorrect and explain too much. Then, you will become enamored of your own cleverness, and become cryptic and mysterious. Then you will become frustrated by the rejections that read "This is beautifully written, but too ambiguous," and you will over-explain. Then you will under-explain. Then you will over-explain and your first reader will say, "but this is boring." Then you will under-explain... and you will sell something. And then you will not sell anything else for a while, and then you will over-explain and sell something. You will bemoan your fate. You will bemoan the stupidity of editors, or their fickleness.
You will sell a novel. Readers will be confused. You will sell another novel. Your editor will say, "I'm confused." You will spend a month and a half clarifying the obvious.
Readers will still be confused.
You will bemoan the stupidity of readers, or their fickleness.
You will over-explain. You will under-explain. You will put in a bunch of exposition your editor asked for and then on the CEM take half of it out again.
Finally, more people than not will understand.
Hey, if you wanted an easy job, you could have been a brain surgeon. There are sometimes rules, for that.
All we have here in writerland are a series of approximations that occasionally work.