Yesterday was another new experience for me. Color of the Sky has been all about new experiences so far, I think. (It's a genre so different from anything I've written before, how could it be otherwise?) Until yesterday, I'd never written anything serious about danger or terror. My stories have always been so happy-go-lucky, but yesterday I dabbled for the first time in cold perspiration. (Ewww. Bad choice of words there...)
It's pretty different, writing about fear. I've written embarrassment, I've written anger, I've written nervousness and apprehension-- but never sweating, shaking terror. The scene I had to write was hard. There are parts of it that I don't like at all. But I can rework it later. And you're probably tired of hearing the "just keep writing and edit later" mantra so I'll stop that.
I made it to 1,182 yesterday, and when I was finished I felt almost as drained as the characters themselves. It's not easy, trying to figure out how much to include and how much to leave to the reader's imagination. What to describe and what to state as simple fact. How much drama to put in and how much numbness. Whether to lighten the mood with a touch of humor or save it for another, more appropriate time. (I agonized over that one and eventually went with the second. There's a time and place for everything, and jokes aren't usually appreciated when you're being attacked by bandits.)
But then, nobody ever said writing was easy. Or if they did, they lied. (That sounds profound and deep, but I really stole it off a refrigerator magnet. Refrigerator magnets tend to sound like that.)