I'm still working on the same book I was working on back in October - and slowly, slowly, it comes together. This one has been more research heavy, including but not limited to Rhodesian Fire Force tactics and how ships bunker (refuel at sea.) But I'm closing in: the recon team in is overwatch on the terrorist camp, and the exploration team is almost, almost to the coastline of the country they need to infiltrate and explore.
(It's very strange to compile everything and realize that all this research is still going to be a rather slim novel, almost a novella by the time I'm done. I feel like it ought to be a goat gagger for all the work, but the length of the final product is not indicative of the work put in. No doubt it'll expand after the beta read, when feedback from the distaff side tells me I need to slow down and put more explanation in.)
Anyway, last night I was sitting by my husband's feet as he sat by the fireplace, and talking about what I had planned upcoming in the book, to get them from the smuggler's ship they'd bought passage on into the actual country. (I'd just built the fire. I could claim I was monitoring it, but all y'all over a certain age or mileage know I was really just waiting until the pain from getting up was less than the pain from sitting on the floor.)
And my dearest Calmer Half said, "No, it wouldn't work like that. You could do this, or you could do that. In fact, it'd be best if you went back and had them procure these things, and arrange for them to be loaded on the ship before leaving harbor, and then you have this third option, with these operational concerns. And you need to keep this in mind..."
I did not want to go back and change three chapters, one of them so badly I'd have to rewrite from scratch. I did not want to have to do the more complicated way he was saying. I am already slow enough on the writing; I don't want to lose the momentum I have to rewriting. So I grumbled, "I don' wanna rewrite. And I really don't want to change my blocking for the next chapter!"
My darling Calmer Half, whom I love very, very much, gave me this look. You know the one. And replied mildly, "Well, you can write it how you want. It's your book." Softer, mulishly, he added, "But when I had occasion to do similar things, we used the scenarios I outlined."
Fooey. Darnit. Botheration!
I don't want to rewrite. But I'm going to, because he's right. You know, it'd be so much easier to be cheerfully wrong (until my betas caught it) if I didn't live with a subject matter expert!
After going off to my office and doing some grumbling, then fixing a nice hot cup of coffee loaded with Godiva's dark hot chocolate powder, and possibly a more than a little Bailey's as well, I sat down in front of the fire, and sighed. "You are right and I am wrong. All right. Now that I've got my temper tantrum out of the way, what am I doing?"
This is how I feel about ripping out a sleeve that..isn't QUITE right. You can't ignore it, because it affects everything further down the road. So you stop, redo, fix, and then get back at it. Doesn't mean it's fun in any way.
ReplyDeleteYou always call him "The Calmer Half". What does he call you?
ReplyDeleteOn Blog? Miss D.
DeleteIn real life, there's much greater variety, though we also use those nicknames. He got it, well... Once two old vets who knew me well and loved me as good friends do performed a very thorough sniff-test (including background check) of the man who thought he was good enough for their Dot. They'd also known my exes, and passed correct judgement that said gents wouldn't last long before I admitted that.
And when they were done tracking down people who knew him, and where he'd been, and what he'd done, they presented me with the verdict over coffee. Namely: "We always knew you'd marry a combat vet. You're too high strung."
...they were right. And the first few years of our marriage, Peter was known to say with some frequency, "Calm down, love. It's a good day. No one's shooting at you!"
Thus, the moniker of Calmer Half stuck.
Parts of this sound like the equipment collection and prep sections of Fredrick Forsyths' The Dogs of War. I liked that book because even in its' more mundane sections, it held tension and a sense of adventure.
ReplyDeleteLooking forward to buying your book(s).
John Sage
Parts of this sound like the equipment collection and prep sections of Fredrick Forsyths' The Dogs of War. I liked that book because even in its' more mundane sections, it held tension and a sense of adventure.
ReplyDeleteLooking forward to buying your book(s).
John Sage
Parts of this sound like the equipment collection and prep sections of Fredrick Forsyths' The Dogs of War. I liked that book because even in its' more mundane sections, it held tension and a sense of adventure.
ReplyDeleteLooking forward to buying your book(s).
John Sage
Sorry for the multiple posts. I'm sure that I only pushed the button once. Oops.
ReplyDeleteJohn
Hehehe, better fixing it now than later... And yes, research eats time and all for maybe one or two lines in the book... But at least you 'know' it's right.
ReplyDeleteWhen I was doing the "last pass" [cue maniacal laughter] edits on Learnedly Familiar, I discovered a note from a beta reader mentioning that I'd managed to put 7 weeks in October. Oops. If I don't change it, then I won't have to change M-Familiar. But I'll get a deluge of e-mails saying "hey, you have too many days in the month!"
ReplyDeleteSo I rewrote a chunk, and will go through M-Familiar's manuscript thus far and check all the time cues there.