There is this one particular scene that's been giving me fits. In this rewrite, I'm trying to adhere all the branches to the trunk, so to speak, and this one scene simply won't bend. As with a living tree, forcing it to bend to my will is working out absolutely fantastically and we can all go home now. It either splinters, bends awkwardly and unsustainably, or simply resists and patiently waits for me to tire, on tree time.
The difference between now and right now. I started asking myself this about this scene. Is now right now? Turns out, this scene was so gosh darn close to now, it wasn't right fucking now. Without realizing it, anything that would and could happen in this scene was actually what would happen in a couple of days. Close enough, right? Not really. Right now is right fucking now, and it just so turns out that a very short amount of time before right now is merely now and that won't do at all. I tossed the whole scene out and starting writing it in the right now-version of now and the right nowness of it is far more now than just before now. Now is dead, long live Right Now.
There is another scene, a new scene, that needed to be written, but I couldn't figure out how to cut in. I know who is in the room, I know what has just happened, I know what one character is about to do that is going to set it off and running. But how to begin? It was very stagnant in my head, two characters more or less sitting there, lying there, having one of many smeared-up moments that are anything but anything. Sometimes, you peer into your characters' little world, waiting to take down what they say or do, and they blankly look back at you, waiting for you to do pretty much the same thing. Very High Noon. So I turned one of them upside-down. Physically. Perhaps all the blood went to his little head, but it worked--I mean, how long can you hang upside-down before you get a headache?