Very tired. I knew I was going to have to sit in a waiting room for two hours today (as usual for Tues. and Thurs.), and suddenly could not bear the thought of another two potential writing hours frittered away while I tried to find something, anything, to do--including finishing that book I was reading. I know I can't do any real writing in a waiting room, but it hit me that I could work on my thingee, and that would be two hours of thingee-time freed up somewhere down the line for real writing. So I asked son #1 if I could borrow his laptop instead. He said yes (thank g*d) so I worked on the thingee. Laptops s*ck. They don't seem to really be made for laps, or at least not for my lap. My back is all knotted up. But I worked out some more background, stuff I didn't know, so that was good.

It's sobering to realize that in order to really do this properly, I probably ought to do a lot more pre-writing work. The way I envision this is as at least three books, each with a different MC. The thingee I'm working on now is for the character who would be the MC in book three. So every bit of work I'm doing now is necessary and will be used in full. It's not overdoing, and it's not just messing around.

However, the thought of having to do this--the background for three books at once, when I don't even have the proper feel for the first one--is overwhelming. I don't want to do all that right now. I want to write one book at a time, not spend four years or whatever putzing over the background for books that won't even start to exist unless I can sell the first one. I mean, anything could happen in the time it's going to take me to do this. I could get hit by a bus, or be forced to quit writing, or my house could burn down or my computer could explode.

I hate patience. I never wanted it. I don't even think it's a virtue. I think it's something other people tell you to have when they want you to behave in a way that's more convenient for them. But by g*d, if you want to be a writer, patience is forced upon you against your will. You have no choice. You'll be slowly covered in patience till you're smothered by it.

So. What must be done, must be done. To work. Sigh.