nocturnalist

There are times when plots unfurl like a new flag in a brisk wind, opening out sweetly and effortlessly. The only problem is running along fast enough to keep up and write everything down.

There are times when plots come together like a difficult equation. It takes concentration, nutting out each thread and strand, giving teeth-grindingly patient thought to how each part will affect each other and meticulously taking the measure of every element.

There are plots that come together like magnets. The repelling ends. The ones where you know you've got all the ingredients but they just slither through your grip and spring away from each other every fucking time you think you've just about got a storyline happening. And then you shift your grip a little and one plot element spins through ninety degrees and snaps into place so sweetly you can't even see the joins any more.

And there are plots that come together like rocks in a polisher. No finesse, no clever craftsmanship, no intuitive "wow" moment. Just slow, relentless grinding away, hour after hour, until you've worn the bastards down enough that they fit together. Or at least don't seem to grate as much.

Currently I am having a case of the rock-grinders. I am hoping it won't last.