Writing the words

You know the real problem with writing? The words. They sound all lovely in your head, and then you put them down on paper and SMASH. It's like they've been hit by a tornado of swirling Mack trucks all honking their horns simultaneously. They're flat, is what I'm saying.

Also, plot. It looks so lovely, so stunningly beautiful in outline form. Only then you have to try to structure it into a bunch of scenes and like, make it come alive or somesuch, and guess what? It turns out it's more un-dead than vibrantly living and breathing.

So why do it? Well, for the money of course. For the million dollar book deal that is just down the street, waiting for my signal (comehere bookie deal, comeon, comeon, that's a good boy). Or . . . not. Because there is a beautiful story in my head that I just have to share with the world? Maybe that. On the good days at least. I mean, I'm not gonna lie, I sort of love my Indra. Oh, and the firecaves--wait 'til you see the firecaves. And, and . . . well, I don't want to spoil it all at once now, do I?

So for now, let's just say I'm in it for the moolah, mm-kay?