Talk about warm fuzzies. I didn't really see it until this morning when I was blubbering on about this problem in my morning pages just now. I'm putting this couple through fucking hell. And on top of that I've promised a happy ending. I don't know if I can pull it off but I've promised that I would do it anyway. Twists and turns keep being thrown on the path to the end of this story and I've stayed the course. I've had to solve some serious plotting problems, all because this has to have a happy ending. Not bittersweet, not an okay resolution, but a happy ending, dammit. And I'm not forcing a happy ending on this thing, I'm doing it because it's right for the story and for these characters.
So here I am writing about this couple and about my story in general. Yes, it's still a historical thriller. I'm writing in this direction: even though my couple is going through hell, it's still worthwhile to stay, be together. Ugh.
It's a problem. What with all the warm fuzzies cuddling around me. And this story. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself now. I can't keep torturing myself like this, right? I'm such a dumbass. I was thinking I need to get away from the warm fuzzies, just do a way with them. This way I can take a step back and get back to my armored, happy-to-be-alone self. But can I do that and work on my novel?
I can't stop working on my novel. I could try stopping and write something else but there's a possibility that one will turn into a love story too. I always thought I would write a love story someday. A wonderful one but I sure as hell wasn't going to do that now. Ugghgh.
Can't. Keep. Doing. This. To. Myself.