RIHC6v2 is getting too damn complicated. It's like I'm writing a gay international thriller in the second-rate Le Carre mode than a fun erotic-mystery-suspense piece, and it's all thanks to Antony and his need for duplicity. I have 174 pages of story that's just beginning to be understandable and which I spend WAY too much time explaining -- like, "See how clever I am to come up with this and then have a way for Antony to figure it out?" How silly.
Oh, great -- and now Antony's going to pout. Okay, not pout, just glower at me condescendingly. Apparently HE'S having fun. Me -- I went through the whole second book, yesterday, and got lost. And I friggin' wrote it!
I'm going to stuff the storage with boxes, right now, and try to figure out what the hell it is I'm doing with this story.
What's that old saying? "Pride goeth before the fall"? Hear that, Antony?
And yes -- I DO know I'm talking to myself. I'm not THAT far gone, yet. But at this rate, it won't be long till I am.