My Past Self is a Sadistic Reprobate

Paul S: I’ve made four attempts to build this next hinge.
Me: How’s it going?
Paul S: …I’ve made four attempts to build this next hinge.

I wrote a bunch of stuff while I was sick and now I’m not sure what to do with it. Some of it’s kind of at a higher emotional pitch than is really necessary, and some of it is very silly, and one part has a pun. Which worries me.*

I can mostly remember what I was doing with it all, but a part of what I remember is thinking, I should figure out where this scene fits in the timeline… Eh. I can worry about that when I can think in a straight line. So… that’s now, I guess.

Rick: Having fun?
Me: Not really. Head fuzz.
Rick: Thought police?
Me: I hope not! I haven’t done anything. Probably. Possibly. Oh dear.

I know I shouldn’t blame sick!Kandace for creating tricky writing challenges for me, but really, I couldn’t have given myself something easy to get back into the flow with? Maybe this is why I’ve been dreaming about writing the wrong book.

Still. Taking Path apart with filet knives should not feel easier than joining the three pieces of this chapter together. I mean, it’s just got to be… heartfelt denial sliding into slightly overwhelmed whimsy, in a way that conveys really important information without giving away too much, and that makes it clear to the reader when the characters are lying but not necessarily clear to the other characters. And then I have to figure out how it ends. Because right now it ends in a pun and… okay, yes, I’m biased against puns. But I’m not deleting it I’m just… is that really the button I want on the scene?

 

* While I was sick my sense of humour apparently deteriorated to the point where I found puns funny, or at least found myself involuntarily laughing at them. A fact that my housemate, Paul, enjoyed a little too much. He loves making puns and is happy enough with the groaning and face palms they usually elicit. Actual laughter made him practically giddy.