Avoidance Ironing

I am not, by any means, a domestic goddess. All the nesting instincts that women are supposed to inherently possess have completely passed me by. I have no maternal instinct whatsoever, I don’t cook anything unless it has instructions on the packet or jar, I pay a cleaner to my dusting, polishing, sweeping and vacuuming, and I don’t do tidying up. My husband and I argue about whose turn it is to unload the dishwasher.

We have an arrangement with the ironing – he irons his clothes, I iron mine. He knows better than to ask me to iron a shirt for him. I really hate ironing so I try to avoid it if I can, buying synthetic wrinkle-free fabrics whenever possible, but in the summer months cotton work tops are unavoidable. My clothes tend to languish in my ironing basket for months, as I only iron stuff when I need it.

Today, however, I have rummaged around in the bottom of the ironing basket, and I’ve ironed everything of mine that was in there. Even the holiday clothes that I won’t be needing again until we next go someplace with a tropical climate.

So what’s brought on this uncharacteristic spurt of domesticity? Today is the first day I’ve had at home for months, and I decided to myself I would spend it writing. But I’m at one of those awkward points in the WIP that makes writing so undesirable, even domestic chores are appealing in comparison.

I am working on Draft 3 of the urban fantasy novel. Well, technically it’s Draft 2.5, as I’d only got halfway through Draft 2 before I scrapped it and started over, naming the rewrite Draft 3.

Therein lies the problem, really. I’m trying to put together a manuscript that’s pretty much in pieces, a jigsaw puzzle with a few key pieces missing. I arrived at my WIP to find my MC in a particularly hazardous position. She has to disrupt a demonic ritual. She has no idea how she’s going to do this. Neither do I. And in fact, in the first draft I’ve left a note to myself saying, “ritual must be disrupted. Figure this out later”. And then the next scene is my MC escaping from the scene, pursued by the irate ritualists.

Only, I’ve come back to this section and still don’t know what’s going to happen in this chapter. I think part of the problem lies in the fact I have a similar scene later on in the book, where she disrupts another ritual, and thus I’m in danger of repeating myself. I think I’m going to have to rethink this particular plot line before I can carry on with.

The thought is currently filling me with dread. I think I hear the zombies of Resident Evil stirring, and feel the need to go give them a good kicking, rather than sit here bashing my head against the keyboard.

Still, at least all my clothes are ironed. So I suppose something useful has come out of today’s writing session.


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