I Hate Writing...sometimes...

I don't know how the hell people can write books so fast and easy. Am I just crap at it? Have I stupidly convinced myself I know how to tell a story when I can barely construct a group of sentences that make any sense?

I reworked the last two chapters and went over them, today...and what I did was sloppy as hell. Things are said that need to be said at that moment for the story to continue. Too much information is jammed into dialogue. Too much dithering when I dig into each character's mind...and it was awful. It read like a preliminary draft instead of a revision of something that had already been reworked four times.

Not the whole thing...really. Just the action from when Dax returns to the Cantina to the end of the next to the last chapter. That's when everything explodes. Like it was shorthand for who's doing what, where, how and when, and the reader can just fill in the blanks, themselves...and never mind those blanks are a mile wide, each.

I'm probably just tired. I spent most of the day setting up my storage space and checking out a mattress and finding a pallet to put on the floor of the storage unit then shifting boxes into it. On a COLD day with a nasty wind and probably -100 windchill. If I don't get pneumonia, it'll be a miracle.

I'll work on it, again, tomorrow...and Monday and Tuesday and keep at it till I can figure out what the hell is going on here and the damned thing works.

And now Zeke is just telling me to calm down because this part is coming together. Whether I can see it or not. I just wish I could get it done...

Hmm...I've always got him in jeans, but Alex usually wears shorts, showing off his bionic leg. Maybe I need to rethink some things I'm doing in the story...