Icky day with Husband*, got lost (couple of times), got stuck in traffic, two hours spent in transit one way. By the time we got there we had no time to actually be anywhere we tried to go. But do to extreme boredom while trapped in car, I did manage to work on my writing a bit. I am trying to make some of the changes suggested by reading How to Write a Damn Good Novel 2. I was pleased to have immediately seen where and how I could apply some of them to what I already had going on. But as I worked on it, I was a bit surprised by my own resistance. I've read my work, there is no drive forward, no suspense; it would seem logical seeing this need, to supply it. But, but....in so doing the tone is different. It was light before, flitting above the surface, mellow and calm. It had a certain kind of poetry to it, soft breeze. If I make these changes (a colder more tumultuous wind, that bandies one about a bit), then the whole mood changes; which part of me realizes is necessary and the rest of me is throwing a fit against. I wrote down the changes, and worked on the scenes, but it is all still on separate pieces of paper. I am hesitant to step fully into a different version of my story. Hesitant to surrender calmer weather, for more storms, in the hopes that someone will turn a page.
(*husband himself is generally not icky)