No exciting sequel fiction today folks.
I mean it’s Sunday, what did you expect? Also, the piece from yesterday was already very off-the-cuff writing, with the only thing I had drafted being the amnesia-induced panic saving her from being locked in and presumably dying. As I expanded on that I imagined some loose points for the rest of the plot. But attempting to build upon those today — on a Sunday — just isn’t working very well.
Though, in the attempt, I felt more hung-up on the individual sentences than the plot they were shaping, so there’s still hope. It’s nothing revolutionary, I’m not trying insane new things here, but we might still have some fun with it. Or maybe we won’t, maybe it’ll be a one-parter forever.
Maybe I should stop writing off-the-cuff again. Every time I write with even the tiniest of drafts at my side things turn out so much better. And yet I can’t help myself, to slack off, and then improvise when it comes down to it.
Suppose that makes me unreliable.