Preparations for the move are ramping up. Q4 is looming on the horizon at the dayjob. I have a dozen things to do between now and next weekend, and smack dab in the middle of all of that is jury duty.
Compared to these things, progress on Cold Streets feels absolutely glacial.
There is progress, however. Slowly but surely, I’m closing in on the heart of the story. Just as much as I want my villains to be more than flat stereotypes, the main crux of the story is about more than just a supernatural murder. I’m not quite at the point where I feel I can take the plot completely off the rails for the sake of building to a climax; rather, I want there to be motivations and background and conflicts that range beyond the superficial. What I don’t want is for the readers coming back for more of what Cold Iron delivered to feel disappointed.
That could be part of what’s holding me back – that fear. Fear of letting people down. It’s idiotic, of course; I should just write as much as I can as fast as I can so I finish my shit. Those are the rules, right? Right.
Yet I make excuses related to distractions and fatigue and a bunch of other stuff. I really need to cram it when it comes to that. Sure, I may be better equipped to sequester myself after the move (seriously, the layout of the current place ensures about zero privacy) and help is on the way in various forms, but right now, I need to try and cut down what I can to focus on the words.
While any forward motion is good motion, more of it would be fantastic.