I think something must be going around, a plague of some kind of epic proportion, because Raech is down with something, as is Shawn, and I fear I may soon succumb to the same. I have a runny nose, foggy head, and a tummy that is sick of post-nasal drip: just the cocktail I desire to write a friggin’ paper tonight. Oh well. I’ve already done my Greek homework so all I have to worry about is the book review for my Jane Austen class, which shouldn’t be too bad. Probably not my best work, but I’ll live, as I’m sure so will my professor. I just hope it doesn’t turn into a major cold because I’m scheduled to go camping this weekend and I’d hate to cancel.
I had something of a breakthrough last night regarding Pharmakoi, and I’m very excited. It’s the kind of thing I’ve been hoping for, as there was a definite, terrible weakness in one character’s motivation at a crucial point, and I think I’ve fixed it to my satisfaction. As an upside/downside, it makes the ending far more tragic than I wanted it to be initally, but also much sweeter in some ways.
I feel conflicted about the book sometimes regarding that tragic element, I wonder if I’m being uneccesarily cruel to the characters. A while ago (omg, last July) I told Jesse that I felt really bad about the end of the novel and wondered if anyone would want to read something so sad. I still am concerned about this: that my (our) beloved book, the apple of my eye, child of my heart, the object of so much sweat, tears, labor, research, and love, is simply too much of a downer. I don’t know what to feel about that. Maybe it will only be sad to me? Maybe I’m attached to the characters in a way no one else will be? Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I don’t know.
Then again, maybe it will never be published, making any anxiety over reader impact pure onanism. I think I’ll keep that in mind, to perhaps save myself from falling too deeply into the stereotype of the loathsome, neurotic writer.