I had a realization about the final story in The Wind on the Blade, and it was that the guts and the bones are there, but some of them were in the wrong place. And the intent was wrong, or maybe didn’t even exist.
I had an intent, as the author, but my protagonist did not.
That was a problem.
And so he has one now. And there is a conflict and a resolution. Of sorts. Which was all a bit vague before. Now it’s only kind of vague. But it’s there.
I am, therefore, rearranging the bones like a paleontologist who’s mistaken the tail for neck bones, and filling in the guts as necessary to finish this story once and for all.
Journal 