Buried Treasure

I was cleaning today and found a secret cache of about eight unfinished short stories, along with two completed (and very bad) ones. This spate of random personal archaeology has mixed results. On the positive side, I cleared out some much-needed storage space, eliminated clutter, and found two partial pieces of writing that I'd been looking for. On the negative side, though, is the emotional aftermath of reading some of these things. Based on the dates and contents of the rest of the box, I'd say these papers haven't seen the light of day since 1995. The writing has, to say the least, poor. Thank God I've improved in the last 14 years.

Left turn at Albuquerque

He's done it to me again.

Just when I think I know exactly how the plot of Catherine's Wheel is going to go, and how Tobyn is going to be moving through his world to tell the story, the little bastard takes a left turn and totally discombobulates me. I just added two pages to the book where I just have to shake my head and type what he "tells" me, because I have no earthly clue where this is going. I know what he's supposed to be doing, but as always, Tobyn has his own ideas.

Sometimes I really believe that my characters develop lives of their own, almost independent of me, as a result of all of the energy that I put into them. Some of them are very cooperative, others are complete pains. Tobyn, naturally, falls into the latter category. He's such a jerk sometimes...but I guess that's why I love him. His unpredictability makes him interesting to write, and, I hope, interesting to read.

And still I have no idea where he's going or who this Frau Schulmann is who just blundered into the book, but I have the sinking suspicion that she's not what she seems. (Really, who in the Clans universe ever is?)