I'm at a loss.

When I sat down to re-start this book in September it started with a new notebook. On the very first pages of that notebook I wrote the outline for a scene in a hurried, nonsensical scrawl. It the margin the penned the words 'this will come later, after most major events.'
Iv'e wanted to write this chapter ever since. It's probably the chapter I can visualize the best. Rain on the lake, wolf in the water... tears, demons, abandoned boots..

I pass it every time I open that notebook--it was starting to drive me a little crazy actually.

Yesterday I set myself down and started it. in fact I am
jolly close to finishing it (4.033 words) . When you have high expectations of a scene like this it's going to take some thinking about. Then i had to work out where I'd written parts of it because Iv'e written them everywhere.. I don't feel any sense of elation. This scene is rather dark, it isn't like 'the pinnacle' where I finished the chapter and felt like singing. This time I feel bad, bad because I came very close to killing a minor character, in fact I came so close that I might just have to accept that she isn't coming back to the story.

Sometimes these things happen, the story starts to write itself in new directions. Nothing major, just twists that were never meant to be, characters that don't, can't or wont do as intended. I suppose if  I wanted to turn this into some sort of extended metaphor I could talk about the rogue arrow (I did once or twice promise to write about it). It's a seemingly straight arrow that I have that always flies ridiculously off course, recently it went though the target was deflected right by a post, went through the side of our old hen house, hit the floor, veered upward and embedded itself (vertically) in the roof. It's not important, certainly not worth blogging about, but one of those moments where you find yourself standing in a hen-house absolutely bemused as to what just happened.
My protagonist did this to me today. So did the minor character who is now balanced precariously on the lip of the void. She was meant to be A OK. not so sure about that anymore.. it just no longer seems like that will be the reality.

I should theoretically have started this chapter the day before yesterday. My deadline for the previous one was three days ago. I made a spontaneous decision however to revive my mountain conquering habits of old. I'm talking literal mountains here. I drove to the lake, got out of my car and walked straight up the mountain. Felt good for about the first hour. four hours later -not so much. It wasn't a book-writing exercise, but it turned into one (like everything seems to).
I based a few places on the park here, being so close to home why wouldn't I? based is maybe the wrong word, 'associated' would fit better. It was nice to be able to see these places again before I put fingers-to-keyboard and wrote that unfortunate chapter.

One of the main reasons I like climbing this mountain is the basin you can see from the top (on the other side obviously) its a people-free slice of untarnished NZ goodness, and you have to climb a faffing mountain to see it. Suits me. The first time I set eyes on said basin and it's wee tarns, I dreamed up a hidden country, a sanctuary if you will. I was sixteen at the time -funny how things stick.

This has come a long way from raging Dub-step and brutality. I think the books getting rather serious, my characters a being whittled down to tougher stuff.