There comes a time in every writer’s life when awareness begins to creep in.  Have so many years gone by already?  We examine our warranties only to find they expired around the 40th birthday.  Maintenance is now part of reality.  Sometimes maintenance isn’t enough and a part needs to be replaced, rebuilt, or done without.

“What is she talking about?”

“I have no clue.  We’re in the middle of a novel here.  We don’ t have time for a sidetrack.”

“It must be going to mess up our schedule.  Here she is again.”

Funny, maintenance never seems to hush the little voices that live in the writer’s head, but that’s probably a good thing.  Split personalities make character creation easier?  Hmm…discuss.

My chassis is scheduled for maintenance in a few days (and of course the notebook goes along).  I expect to be back on line by Wednesday, November 18th, ready to crack jokes about the new scar.  And another question…if chicks dig scars, why don’t dudes?

So my notebook will get to see everything through being knocked out and I’ve been promised it will be next to me when I wake up.  We’re in the middle of NaNoWriMo, I explain to the nurse.  I look her in the eye.  This is very important.  She controls her desire to roll eyes back at me and promises the notebook will be with me when I wake up.

We get all the way out to the car before my husband tells me I forgot to negotiate the pen.  I have a plan.  I’m going to tape it to my hip.  Think they’ll notice?

I’m coming up on the final scene angst.  Can I make it dramatic enough?  Will there be enough tension?  I’ve slowed down, playing with scene order, trying to figure out where chapter breaks fall.  I blame a lot of this on my MC, especially in light of the conversation we had this weekend:

Me:  Enough.  Don’t give me any new information.

Lillian:  I thought you wanted to get to know me?

Me:  I do, but there are too many facets here, too many story threads.  Can we just concentrate on a few?

Lillian: But that would be to tell less than the whole story.

Me:  Readers might not want to wade through every little subplot.

Lillian:  I guess you can take care of that in the edits, then.  If you are following me through this story, you are stuck with my side paths and pit stops.

Me:  Could you just tighten it up a little bit?

Lillian:  No.  I don’t really want to.  You climbed inside my head, you deal with it.

Me:  But any more sub plots are going to add too many words and not all of them are resolving.  We really only need the story of the cave and you and Nate and your reconciliation…

Lillian:  My reconciliation is causing you problems?

Me:  Well, yeah.  There’s your family, your grandfather, your career hopes, your struggle against the times you live in, your feelings about your social status, and it keeps going on and on.

Lillian:  Look, you’re the writer.  I’m just telling you what’s going on.  Cut some, combine some…whatever it is you do in the rewrite.  I can’t stop telling you what’s happening.

Me:  Are you nervous about going back in that cave?

Silence

Me:  I can understand that.  I’m nervous to write it.  I don’t know what will happen.

Lillian:  Yes.  I’m scared.  Really scared.

Me:  Is that why you keep dithering, throwing more at me?

Lillian:  Um.  Well.

Me:  Okay.  I can deal with this.  I’ll keep following you and keep writing, but you know we have to go back in there.  We have to resolve the story.

Lillian:  You can just keep writing.  I mean, we can stretch the last three days of the story waaayyy out and tie other loose ends up.  There’s no rush, right?

Me:  There is and you know it.  I’ll do this:  I’ll write everything you say and follow every path you present.  In return, you will have to enter that cave before the end of the week in my time.

Lillian:  We’ll see, okay?  I’m really scared.

Me:  So are the other characters and you are dragging it out for all of  us.

Lillian:  Oh!  That’s not good.  Okay, I’ll try.  One week.

Me:  Good.  And these edits are going to be interesting.

MC:  So which one is he?

Author:  You mean your true love?

MC: Yes, please.  Which of these gentlemen is he?  I peeked at your notes and I know I meet him in this chapter.

Author:  Well, this is rather unorthodox, but okay.  He’s the tall man leaning against the mantlepiece…no, not that one, to the left.

MC:  Him?

Author:  Him.

MC:  Ah.  Hmm.  Um…what about that nice looking gentleman dancing in the set to my right?

Author:  What about him?

MC:  Why not make him my true love?

Author:  That one?  He’s an extra…just a dancer to fill up the room.  He’s not your true love.

MC: But you are the writer.  You can make it so.

Author:  No, no that’s not a good idea.  I don’t even know his name.

MC  You are the writer.  You can do this.  You can make him my true love instead of that brooding man you pointed out.

Author:  Brooding?  He’s thinking!

MC:  He’s brooding.  He hasn’t smiled.  He’s not dancing.  Why would I want that?  Give me this one with the big smile and light feet.

Author:  But–

MC:  Please?

Author:  What’s wrong with the one over there?  He’s a good man and protective.

MC:  No, I thank you.  This one here please.  I can see your eyes narrowing.  I am entitled to my taste and this is my story, is it not?

Author: Yes, but he is not for you.  That one by the fireplace is yours.

MC:  You really need to change your mind.

Author:  Better that you change yours…and quit pouting.  I’ve seen the outline.  You haven’t.  Trust me, that man you think is brooding is the right man for you.  You’ll know it too before the end of your story.

MC:  Perhaps I did not make myself clear.  I have no interest in your choice.  I have much interest in my choice.

Author:  Uncooperative wench.  Your true love awaits by the fireplace!

MC:  Whose story is this?

Author:  Who is the writer here?

Silence stretches

MC:  So have I won yet?

Tameth:  Have you thought about my armor?

Author:  Of course.  You are primarily a scout, so you wear studded leather except on formal occasions.

Tameth:  What’s on my feet?

Author:  Soft leather boots…like buckskin.

Tameth:  All right.  What about  my sword?

Author:  Oh, it’s essentially a Katana.

Tameth:  What?  No, I want a broadsword.

Author:  Nope.  You aren’t big enough to wield a broadsword effectively.  You are a woman after all, and don’t have the height or the brawn.  You need a well balanced lighter weapon to fight with.

Tameth:  Nope, I need a badass sword.  Yup, I do.  If you won’t let me carry a broadsword or a claymore, can I have one with a wicked handle and basket?

Author:  Since when is flashy part of your style?  You are a scout for the king, remember?

Tameth:  So?  Give me an evil little cutter with which to be fierce.

Author:  Now listen…you are the character who sprang full grown from my forehead and informed me I could write while you dictated your character, likes, and dislikes.  You are not flashy, you are not wicked, you don’t care what others think of you.  Suddenly you want a sword that is entirely out of character?

Tameth:  Well, yeah, I do.  C’mon…something to give me an unexpected edge against the enemy, something with which to impress my men.  Please?  Oh, I know.  How about a fantasy sword?  They are so pretty and glowy and stuff.  Can I have one of those?

Author:  A. Fantasy. Sword.  Are you kidding me?  Are you freaking KIDDING ME?

Tameth:  Well…uh.  Maybe I’m just teasing you.  C’mon I don’t want some boring old Katana.

Author:  They are not boring!  In fact, you are the only member of the king’s guard to have ever held or trained with one!  People are curious about your sword.  Women want your sword.  Men fear it.  It is perfectly balanced, perfectly suited to your size and strength…it’s perfect!

Tameth:  Really?  Katanas don’t exist in my world except mine?  I’m the only one?

Author:  Yes, you have the only Katana type sword, with its graceful curves and wicked edge.  It is like you:  graceful, delicately curved, and very deadly.

Tameth:  Oh…well why didn’t you say so?  I’ll take the Katana.

Author:  Good.

Tameth:  So…about my shield…

Creative: Write this!

Writer:  Hmmmm okay.

Critic:  You can’t write about that!

Writer:  I can’t?

Critic:  NO!  That’s not  your genre, you’ll mess it  up .  Besides, it is controversial.

Creative:  Oh leave her be.  It will be great, you’ll see.

Writer:  Hush, I’m writing.

Critic:  Well stop.  Write something different.

Creative: Oh hush you stick in the mud.  You suppress me (dramatic shudder)

Editor:  Hey, that needs better punctuation

Writer:  I’ll do it later.  Let me get this out.

Creative:  Go, go go go, oh that’s good.  Good line.

Critic:  Good line?  Good grief!

Creative:  She’s doing great.  She’s getting flow.  Shut up already!

Editor:  Really, that sentence needs work.

Creative:  She said she would do it later.

Editor:  She could do it now while she’s writing.  Less to do later.  You know she doesn’t like me.

Writer:  I like you fine.  Just not now.

Critic:  No no no don’t write that!  What will people think?

Creative:  Shh, she doesn’t have to show it to anyone.  She can write it for herself, you know!

Critic:  You are leading her astray.  She can’t possibly write that kind of piece.

Editor:  You forgot a comma.

Writer:  WILL YOU ALL SHUT UP!  I’M WRITING HERE.

(momentary silence)

Creative (whispers):  She’s doing great.  That paragraph was really descriptive.

Editor:  What’s she writing anyway?

(the three look over the writer’s shoulder)

Critic:  GASP!  She’s plotting my murder!  She’s going to ask Matthew to kill me!!  NOOOOOO!

Editor:  She’s really into it now.  Look at that sloppy penmanship.

Creative:  Oh hush.  Glad I’m not in there, though. (second dramatic shudder).

Editor:  Well, you are now.  Oh!  And so am I!

Writer:  I will take a contract on each of you if you don’t shut up and let me write!

Creative:  Please don’t kill me.  No, don’t.  I’ll behave.  Besides, you need me…and Editor.  You don’t need Critic.  It’s okay to kill Critic.

Critic:  WHAT?!

Writer (muttering):  I’ll kill you all myself if you don’t go away.

Editor:  She’s serious.  C’mon, let’s go.

Critic:  I told you writing that was a bad idea, but you just had to egg her on, Creative.  Now look!

(The voices grow more distant as the three fade into the background.  Writer smiles, opens up her novel, and gets to work.  She keeps the killing piece open…just in case).