I have to figure out what the story is really about, or this will be the longest script in history. And the most complex.
I keep adding subplots and characters and locations. And the inconsistencies in the plot multiply exponentially; every question answered, every loose thread tied up, generate new discrepancies.
The world I created gets more and more detailed. I'll soon know more about Quira City than I know about Stockholm.
Three hundred pages and it's just a draft. When I start to show and not tell, when I write the actual dialogue, describe the events and places in detail, those three hundred pages will become maybe seven hundred pages.
And the big chunk in the middle, which is now just a few notes, is bound to be just as many pages.
So my little novella is becoming an epic.
I have a problem with writer’s block.
I need it.
At least until I know The Premise; what the story is all about told in one sentence.
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