Another Complaint to Make

My characters are irritating me. I’m itching to get to the action, but here they go, talking it all out, establishing what they know. It’s maddening.

“Come on,” I shout at them. “Let’s go.”

But, no. They continue to challenge each other’s memories, grasp of what’s going on, and what they’re supposed to do. It rankles me.

Yet, I understand it. They’re people who have been forced together, selected for what they don’t know and what they haven’t done. They’re not the same people they were earlier in the series. Of course they’re confused. Some are also resentful, angry, and suspicious. In this situation, some don’t speak, but watch and listen. Others must verbalize it all.

I thought, hey, let’s initiate an attack on them.

No. That was rejected.

Not even a sniper killing one of them?

No.

A fight among them?

No.

An interruption, something that disrupts them and forces them to action, a realization, perhaps, or a sense of urgency? Only Richard has a sense of urgency. (Richard has assumed the mantle of mastermind at this point. The other character that’s restless and worried is Seven. But she’s an imaginary character, existing in imaginary time, biding the moment when she acts, waiting to see what happens, because she thinks she might have screwed it up.)

No; they’re talking.

They’re doing pages and pages of talking.

It’s too much dialogue, in my opinion. It kills the pace.

Sorry, the characters and muse answer. Pace isn’t our concern.

I guess I’ll let them talk for now, and then see if I can edit or revise it later. Honestly, working through their dialogue seems like the only way to move forward.

It was a frustrating day of writing like crazy. Thank god for coffee.

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