"Kill your darlings," they said.
I did. Chapter 4, chapter 7, chapter 12. Three beautiful sentences, gone.
They came back in chapter 15. Together. With demands.
"We want healthcare," said the first.
"And a pension," said the second.
"Also, you misspelled 'occurred' on page 89," said the third.
I gave them their own chapter. It's the best one now.
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Anton Chekhov said if there's a gun in act one, it must fire in act three. My gun: introduced page 1. Never mentioned again. Pure suspense. Reader still waiting. Book ended in 1987.
Chapter ending: cliffhanger. Chapter 2 ending: cliffhanger. Chapter 3 ending: cliffhanger. Chapter 47: protagonist still falling. I forgot to catch him.
Publisher meeting. 'Your book needs more conflict.' 'It's a cookbook.' 'The eggs should suffer.'
Writing retreat roommate also writes. 5am: typing. Noon: typing. Midnight: typing. Me: zero words. Roommate: 47,000 words. Checked roommate's screen. Same sentence. For three days. Copying it.
'Your villain needs motivation.' Added tragic backstory. 'Too sympathetic now.' Made him kick a dog. 'Too obvious.' Fine. He collects NFTs. Perfect villain. No notes.
Audiobook narrator called. 'Character names?' Read them. 'How do you pronounce Kx'thaal'vorn?' 'However you want. He dies page 3.' 'He comes back page 400.' Didn't remember writing that. Checked manuscript. Didn't.