Oh, writing. Writing has become like digging red clay out of the ground. Where 1,000 words flew by in days before, now 1,000 words requires substantial effort. There's hard choices to make in the plot. Things happened that the characters and I didn't expect. One guy went blind. How the hell did that happen? Well, I know how it happened, I told the tale as it passed through me but this added chapter weighs heavy. The main character has survived but he didn't prosper. Now he's aware of differences. Blue skies, so taken for granted as something natural and normal, has been exposed as not always normal.
People want him for his apparent powers but he has no ideas what those powers are. No one wants to tell him, going back to that old axiom, knowledge is power. The less he knows about his own power the more valuable he is to others, and the more readily they can mold and use him. He knows that but, does he want to be molded? Not really. He's become accustomed to his life. Once upon a time, he would have seized on the power to advance himself but on longer.
But it pisses him off that they're playing him like a fool. Did they really think they could make offers and enticements without telling him why they want him? That's what most pisses him off.
Now he's in Green Earth. He doesn't know what that means, either. His companion knows but doesn't want to tell him anything - doesn't want to 'contaminate' him. Conveying all that information, while keeping the story moving forward, has challenged me. Some of the challenges are attributed to my growth of understanding about the character. As I gained insights into his complexities, I went back into the story and addressed them, usually with just one line.
Is it all becoming too dense, too ponderous? I don't know.
Causes Michael Seidel Supports
Kiva, Women's International League for Peace and Freedom, Propublica.org, Doctors Without Borders, GreaterGood.com