Sunday, March 31, 2002
Somedays even a workaholic like me isn't good for much. But I at least thought about Low Red Moon a great deal today. I'm trying to take much more care with the plotting of this novel than I did with Silk and Threshold. Not that I was sloppy with those novels, but I adopted a very straightforward start-at-the-beginning-and-see-where-this-goes approach, so that I often had no idea what was about to happen next. In many ways I prefer this approach, as I think it permits a greater expression by the unconscious mind than is allowed by stricter plotting. But the sort of novel that Low Red Moon is turning out to be, as much a thriller as a dark fantasy, requires that I invest more forethought to the motivations of certain characters. I need to know more about why they're doing the things they're doing before they actually do them than I have in the past. But this sort of thinking-out of a thing is a far cry from the actual work of writing, and it leaves me feeling as though I've really done nothing but goof of all day, no matter how necessary the process might be.
Meanwhile, I'm starting to suspect that my insomnia may be a living entity, determined to wrest from me the final, sad shreds of my mind.
|
|
