I went to see The Hangover yesterday with my mother, mainly because after reading The Stranger, Heart of Darkness, Wuthering Heights, Fahrenheit 451, and The Chocolate War, Metamporphosis, and Madame Bovary, I needed some mindless entertainment. And mindless it was.
But that’s not really the point of this post (yes, there *is* a point! Kind of…)
And that point is that ATB has officially entered…the Fire Swamp. I first made reference to the Fire Swamp with NW, and I was referring to the entire first draft and the process. But I’m realizing the the Fire Swamp is really the EVIL MIDDLE of the book. Writing the beginning is glorious, rewarding. Writing the end is satisfying. But the middle. I have my own personal musician in my head that goes DUN DUN DUN every time I say "middle."
But what am I talking about?
I’m there again. But will some Wesley throw me a rope? Will he blot out the fire on my skirt, or risk being eaten by a dreaded ROUS to save me?? Pray for me. Or send cookies. And tea.