I wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote last night, hoping to complete a scene that I think is going to be absolutely awesome once I'm done. It's the "Here, kitty kitty" scene; it got added in draft 2 to heighten the tension a bit by having Aphrodite lead the kids into danger, but Debra pointed out that it didn't heighten the tension enough. Now, I'm injecting the prose version of steroids. The kids--Matt and Crystal's thirteen-year-old twin daughters, to be specific--are, as of my departure for work this morning, cowering terrified behind a flimsy wooden desk that's all that is protecting them from the grand melee and rapid-fire spell-chucking going on in the war room. Their hair's already been singed, and one got blood spattered on her face. It's delicious with a capital D. Only problem is how long it's taking me to craft.
I woke up this morning having gotten them successfully and quite sneakily to the war room in the first place (in the first draft of the scene, Aphrodite leads them happily down thataway, but that seemed too preposterous for the girls to believe). Three cups of coffee went into fueling my pre-shower writing, then, as I ploshed along through the scene rewrite.
Battle scenes are fun to write, by the way. They're vivid. They're energetic. They have a pace and a heartbeat of their own. All that leads to the fact that you really can't stop in the middle when you're writing one. It was a weird bout of strangeness this morning, a dichotomy I couldn't help but feel at my core, when I went from writing a combat scene of grand melee to sitting at my Dean's desk, surrounded by papers and folders rather than claymores and flails. It's not something you can just wash out of your head, this vivid visualization you have when you write about battle.
It's lunchtime now, in fact, and I'm just now getting into the rhythm of my work day. Speaking of which, there's real-life work still to be done, so this blog entry must remain short. Have a great day!