You’ll be pleased to hear (I certainly was) that yesterday saw the completion of chapter one of the December Book. The most grueling three thousand words of my life. Reading back over it now, it doesn’t feel as painful as it was to write, which is something of a relief. It’s even entertaining in places, and could end up being a good piece.
I may have to scrap it completely.
The more I look over it, the more I think it’s completely unnecessary. The riot that it describes, in which so may characters cameo, now seems more like back story than actual story. The second chapter takes place over a year later, and that’s a little telling. I’m pretty sure that there’s nothing in chapter one that won’t turn up in individual back stories as I go along, and there might be more mystique and intrigue in holding those events back, to be alluded to later on.
I’m haven’t deleted the chapter – that’s a decision to be made when I redraft, sometime in 2011. For now, too, it’s all words, and words on the page are a valuable psychological advantage.
Today, momentum happened, a second chapter on the page. After the removed perspective of the opening, I’m now in the heads of specific characters, and the actor in me has come in to play, inhabiting them while writing them, letting them speak. It’s a relief, after the previous couple of days, and I feel I’m starting to relax into the thing.