I’ve been working for 8hrs today; it’s 2:20. This illustrates why I gave up Czech language lessons: the time I’m able to put into writing is more valuable than conjugating verbs, tacking on the right ending to nouns, adjectives & etc, and generally “learning” skills I’ll not likely use.
When I gave up Czech two weeks ago, I felt a mental weight lifted from my conscience. Immediately I began to get more scene ideas for [drum roll on the working title:] “Of Sirens & Muses” … and now, today, I’ve organized a third of more than half these scenes into a detailed walk through the first 12 scenes of the novel.
Having these will set me up for the rest of the book, which seems straightforward, but richly intricate re characters, psyches, art & muses etc, love & sex & betrayal and — just maybe — forgiveness.
But probably not the last. We all carry secrets, don’t we? So why should characters confess to the most wicked of their actions?