Grumbles today. I’m still in my cranky-starting-the-book mode. I don’t like the opening I’ve written. As usual, I thought I could fix it, but that’s just laziness trying to mislead me. You know in your gut that it’s wrong. It will always be wrong. Best to jettison it and start again. With less than four pages at stake, it’s hardly a sacrifice. But how my imagination howls with indignation. It gave me those paragraphs. It bestirred itself and suggested the story action to my mind. How dare I not appreciate it.
Well, I don’t. The professional in me knows better than to accept slop when at the end of this project I’m accountable for submitting a novel that’s exciting and fun to read. The professional in me knows how lazy my imagination is, how capricious and whimsical and downright aggravating it can be. The battle between imagination and professional probably accounts for how cranky and absent-minded I am in getting a new manuscript started. But the professional always wins, and soon I’ll settle down. Imagination will start to send me good stuff, then better stuff, and soon the pages will be stacking up.
Meanwhile, the opening goes out. I think I can probably use the event later, say in the third chapter. But it’s too weak, plot wise, to serve as the opening hook.
That’s okay. I’ve got something better in mind already.