Yesterday eve in bed. Himself, reading some book or another. Me, nearly asleep. Himself huffs, and puts the book down.
'This story needs more catflap.'
Now I'm wide awake, thanks. 'Catflap?!?!'
'Yeah, more good stuff, coming and going in the story.'
'You know, that agent and his friends always talk about books needing more catflap.'
'Oh, you mean more "cowbell".'
Monday: Brainstormed a plot plan for last quarter of WIP.
Found plot hole in showdown. Uh-oh Yesterday: Spent afternoon weaving new thread into WIP to sort plot hole.
Finished said thread.
Totally forgot what the BLEEPING plot hole was in the BLEEPING first place.
*BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP*
Oh, well, the additions add nice touch. Today: Woke up and remembered the plot hole.
My two cents may be late. I'm thinking what would GEORGE SMILEY do? Act totally conquered. Ask if the dog needs water/food. Offer tea. Send out for lunch. Get them to make a mistake. Maybe slip a message out via the delivery boy.
And now the Russian Mafia is sitting in my protagonist’s living room, and he doesn’t know why, and to be frank nor do I, he doesn't know how to get rid of them, and nor do I, now it seems the Mafia is writing my story, and I’ve bitten off way more than I can chew with this puppy, and I’m about to throw the keyboard in the air, I'll be bold by the end of the month, Happy Friday everyone. Rant over. Back to writing.