We're wrapping up our fourth month in Florida, and moving into a new apartment at the end of May, just my cousin and I.
I'm not surprised that we're staying longer, though I suppose I want both things kind of equally. There's really nothing for me in Saginaw but family, and nothing for me in Florida but my cousin and opportunities I don't know how to take. They are there, though, even though I am too exhausted to seek them out.
I want to want to write. I feel stuck, even though I know what is going to happen. Maybe I have too much going on. I have a timeline several thousands of years before the main line, one a couple hundred years before the present with the current characters, and the present.
There's also one character who is aware of all of the timelines simultaneously, and remains in an interdimensional state for thousands and thousands of years observing the progression of life on Phant, preserving it until it is time for it to end.
I am at the end, where everything comes together in a bizarre crashing of times and space. It's hard. And I continuously doubt my abilities. And I really need to just sit down and puzzle through everything. I want to start over again. Tighten and neaten and really get ahold of my characters again. This was always one of the hardest of the stories to write. Smooth sailing after this