Don't fuck with me, Brendan...

I spent the day working up a section of chapter 6 where Brendan reads letters his sister, Mairead, sent from Toronto, trying to catch up on what's been happening at home. He learns Eamon's been arrested and jailed under the Special Powers Act. He learns his youngest brother, Kieran who's six, is already chucking stones at British patrols. And he notices she never refers to him by name in any of the letters and it confuses him and it has confused me, as well.

If Brendan came into the country legally, there's no need to be cute about keeping him quiet. So did he or didn't he? I finally reached the point where I had no idea. I broke away and followed some of the GOP meltdown over electing a Speaker of the House, which is a real fiasco, and checked up on how Ukraine is doing against Russia's terrorism...and they are kicking Russia's ass. Then I came back to what I'd written and read some of it and it's nonsense.

And that little fuck is laughing at me. He led me into this ridiculous area that will now be cut and pasted out of the story and I'll go back to square one. A complete waste of time. Granted, this was going to be a big re-write on this chapter. It originally was where Brendan found out he was snuck into the country under a false name and no one knows where he is even as the British are looking for him and it's all gone by the wayside. Hell, it might be best if I just cut the full chapter.

But I liked some of it and wanted to work it in, which that bad boy don't give a shit about. My story; my telling. So listen, peasant. I guess this was his way of kicking me in the...pants. I'd had a glimmer of a thought of an idea that I should just dump the letter-reading but tossed it aside, thinking I could work it out. Apparently, that was unacceptable and lessons will be taught.

So I'm taking the rest of the evening off and getting back onto it, tomorrow. And away it goes.

Look who's not in control of what he's doing.