Concentration and the Lack Thereof

I can't concentrate.

It's really wrong how this happens. I get an open evening where I don't feel like I'm deserting the family by my writing endeavors, and I can't concentrate. Really, really wrong.

Part of it is because I've now had a headache for over twenty-four hours. It's unusual for me to suffer this long from a headache, and I wish I knew if it was simply allergies (which all Texans much suffer through, apparently), or something like staring at the computer too long. Or maybe it's dehydration; I'm very prone to dehydration. Or maybe I'm like all those people in the movies. They get headaches and then they go blind. I'm chronically nearsighted; maybe that has something to do with it. Maybe my rebellion about changing contacts every month has finally decided to punish me. I don't know. All I know is that I can't concentrate.

As soon as I get a semblance of order, I'm interrupted. The phone, my brother, my mother, my father, the dryer. (I didn't even mention how I can interrupt myself through Facebook, checking blogs, installing anti-virus software, uninstalling anti-virus software, and writing blog posts...) And then the rotation starts again, and again. If I can maintain more than twenty minutes of steady writing, that is an accomplishment.

On a more encouraging note, I finished an outline for Thin Ice today. Oh, wait, I seem to have typed that before. This is Thin Ice Outline #3. But it's my favorite. I have the character introductions listed beneath their chapter headings, which is nice. And my character list is finally in the same document, which is also nice. It's all quite lovely.

I think the reason I'm concentrating so hard on the outline is because I want to write the chapters out of order. I have scenes in my head, and they come and go, fading in and out of my consciousness, like waves on a beach. One day I'll be mulling over a scene between Lottie and Rau, the next, it will be Lottie and Van, or Rau and Van.

I just realized that I have scenes that take place with only Lottie, not Rau. This means that I'll have to change point of views during this book. That's possible, but I didn't want to have to do it. I don't want an artsy book, like East; I just want a book that might be able to trick the reader because of how much is not known about Lottie. I don't want the reader to know that she's lying through her teeth. (So is Rau, but that's another story...literally.) But I may have to jump around.

Oh well, if Megan Whalen Turner can do it fluidly, I can too!

I am very far from being Megan Whalen Turner.

I think my brain is in knots from all these different directions it's taking at every moment. Thin Ice, point of views, Megan Whalen Turner, the Holy Spirit (oh, that's another blog post - another three blog posts), my family, Chrissie Patterson, my HEADACHE!!!!!

Oh, my head...

This is actually a very epic statement, you know. The hero, after some great espionage escapade, took the corner too suddenly, only to find his enemy's henchman waiting for him with a two-by-four. He saw stars, and then everything went black. Then, "Oh, my head," he groaned, wincing as he sat up. "Where am I?" His surroundings were four, bare concrete walls, decorated only by a sparse light bulb on the ceiling. The light hurt his eyes. As he sat up, he found that he could not move his arms. His hands were tied. His head throbbed. The door - he had only just noticed that there was a door - opened, and he tried to look alert...

Oh, my head...

I'm chronically nearsighted. I'm dehydrated. I have never been susceptible to allergies, but there is a first time for everything, I suppose.

I'm the antithesis of heroic and epic.

Yet I have Advil. You notice that no one ever offers that sorry protagonist any Advil. Yet I have some in the kitchen cabinet. And as soon as I post this ridiculous, meandering, random blog, I'm going to go ruin my liver and swallow some Advil. Peace. Relaxation. No villains storming through the doors with questions that I won't answer, like, "What are you doing here?" and "Who sent you?" and "Who's with you?"

No one, sir. I came alone.

The biggest lie in any spy book, by the way. There's always someone outside in hiding, waiting...waiting...waiting...

I'm going to go take an Advil now and spare you the insanity of my aching mind.