Burnout Recovery: A Tale of Water and Antiblood
No, I don’t know what the diametric opposite of blood is on the black magic scale. I left Jowan to snivel and mope in Redcliffe’s dungeon, so he can’t tell me, either. If science can get away with “antimatter”, I’m calling “antiblood” valid.
In the two weeks since I posted my reasoning for taking a break from novelizing prior to the completion of the first draft, I have since resumed work on the manuscript, edging it 5,000 words closer to completion. Why the sudden burst of productivity? Can 5,000 words in two weeks really be called a “burst of productivity”?
To dodge the second question: I attribute the abrupt forward momentum after three weeks of stalled progress to a few things. The first of these is the public declaration of my failure. By announcing that I’d stopped work on the book, I suddenly felt much more ashamed of my failure. The guilt had already been lacerating my viscera like coked-up scorpions with throwing stars, and the post about it added tiny screaming monkeys on the backs of the scorpions.
Aside from the (possibly) metaphoric internal hemorrhaging, I was simply stuck on how best to approach the book’s conclusion. The ending is one I’ve had in mind for over a year, and I like it quite a bit. However, liking it doesn’t make it easy to write. Quite the opposite, in fact. Despite the wisdom of “write now, revise later”, I want to get it as close to right as I can the first time around. True, it still won’t be very close, but rushing through this part wouldn’t feel fair to the characters. They deserve the very best of my horrid first-draft prose.
This is the part of the research article (you did know that’s what this is, right?) where I discuss implications and limitations of these results. However, given the extent of rigor and precision with which this study was conducted, I believe the above image will suffice. Really, I only pretend I know what I’m doing.