Slow and Late

I'm going through the mechanics in my mind. I'm plotting a novel. [ Image at left courtesy of JD554 of wikicommons].

When I went to a writer's group tonight and we tried some writing prompt bits for fun, my stories were slow and late.

The good ideas came after we were done and my clever lines - those that might get laughs - were gone. It is a social group and surprisingly full of extroverts. The writers were home at their desks, writing.

My creativity was occupied elsewhere. My thoughts are with half-finished ideas.

My characters enter the page blind and feeble. They find their roles with hesitant fingers on braille formed from emotional scars.

I have answered my quandary from yesterday on a protagonist as transgressor. It came to me in the early morning hours.

In hell, only Satan can rule. If the fate of my damned leads to a wondrous paradise, then I must populate it with evil. Then this fictive world which smells of flowers will shortly have the characters wading in a tide of shit. Readers can accept that.

I know what to do with my protagonist. I know the tricks and bargains and tactics he will use. Previously, he was a man of curiosity and reason and an odd desire to embrace the muse Clio - the muse of history. Now, he is that most interesting of characters. I will let my readers see the world through his eyes.

I will let the reader enjoy his desires.