As of last night I was sitting at 35,122 words, which for the first time was actually slightly ahead of pace. I need to power through the weekend. I can't believe that I only have until next Wednesday to get to 50,000. That's panic inducing.
How's it going?
It's a holy mess is what it is. It's all out of order; the style and tone are wildly inconsistent; it has gaping plot holes and loose ends that I'll need to find someway to tie up later; my wrists ache from typing, and I should probably be working on it right now rather than writing this.
On the other hand, I've learned a few things.
I've learned the value of the label "first draft". It doesn't need to be perfect. In fact, it can't be perfect. I just need to spew out everything I can and later, once I know what the story actually is, I can go back and get rid of the stuff that shouldn't be there; add in the stuff that's missing; shape the tone and style; and do all that stuff that makes it a novel. Right now I'm just pooping out a pile of clay. Later I can shape it into something.
I've also learned, or really remembered from the last time I wrote a novel, that writing a novel is a lot like reading one. I want to keep working on it because I want to know what happens next. Sure, as the author, I have some idea where it's going, but that's not any different than reading a novel. You always have some idea where the book your reading is going. The interesting part is how it gets there.
Ok, I need to get back to writing or I'm going to let all that hard work to get caught up slip away.
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