Up until this morning, it was looking good for winning NaNoWriMo—I’ve been posting word counts on an intercept curve for the last three days. I’ve updated the mind map, and in general I know where I want to go with this story.
Nothing is more destructive to my productivity, though, than a rip-roaring resentment. I’m fighting one off now, concerning two—no, three—microwave ovens (with a fourth in prospect) two appliance retailers, four service technicians, and of course the Hubby.
It’s not the Hubby’s fault. It’s not—well, it’s not two of the four service technicians’ faults. (I’ve got a snit on against one of the retailers and its service technicians. Oh boy, do I have a snit on. This started in mid-August, and here it is, November and Thanksgiving and still no microwave. Someone Must Pay.) I’m fighting the temptation to rip into anyone who comes anywhere near me with the most vicious snark and sarcasm in my arsenal, delivered with a Southern Belle accent that drips with honey and venom. Hubby used to take the brunt of this because, well, on account of husband and lives in the same house, poor man.
But I’ve learned better now. I must somehow turn this negative energy into manuscript. I think it’s time to write the Big Confrontation Between Hero #1 and Villain. A minor fight between Hero #2 and Landlady is also in the offing, as well as a spat between Hero #1 and Hero #2. Vicious snark—yes! Hurt feelings that will go on for a chapter or three… or maybe a whole episode or three…
Too bad none of them has a Southern accent. I’ll just have to make a Highlands accent do.