Middle Muddled

Saturday night and I'm asking passersby for directions…

Exactly like sharks must keep moving to stay alive and keep from becoming another's breakfast, I have to keep writing. Do I think I'll die if I stop, like the Winchester heiress with a keyboard with endless plots and characters to be hashed out?

Jesus, I hope not.

The book I'm writing has hit the middle, my least favorite part. This is due to my own reading preferences. The middle is what ruins books for me. I know the opening should get me hooked quickly and a powerful or catchy ending can save a substandard book. The middle is rarely what sticks with you. It's the 3^rd and 4^th courses of a feast. It is that trippy part of Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love" I wished they just cut out all together.

I am in the "door closed" phase of writing write now. (see King's On Writing for more details) I am the Lord thy God over the lives of these imaginary people and they are all in motion, wondering what the hell is going to happen to them. They are meandering and adrift; waiting for orders. There are rumors out there about the ending. They are unconfirmed but several characters are concerned for the proper direction of their arcs.

Tough. I'm not sure yet.

I suggest outlining your story to anyone who may want suggestions. You can't walk these 1,000 miles without a map, or a printout from MapQuest. You need directions to each street corner, each little town and big city. Then you are supposed to get lost and find your way again. Let GoogleMaps try that crap once.

So I have this diversion. And hey, there is always stand-up comedy.

Damn that addictive applause.