Well, there you have it: for the first time in the three years since I began writing with a determination not seen in my prior forty-five years, and probably in the whole of my time as a writer, I finished a short story. I said I was going to finish it on Friday, and being the good girl I am, I was up until about a quarter to midnight working through the scene until I felt I’d reached the point where “The End” was ready to be slapped into the text.
Final numbers for last night: one thousand, three hundred, thirteen. Thirteen-thirteen. Nice ring, I think. Total word count: five thousand, eight hundred, fifty-three. Well under my seventy-five hundred word limit the SFWA uses for determining if you get a short story Hugo for all your hard work.
Yay, me! Right? Lets hear it . . . yay!
Given that yesterday was a huge pain in the butt, it was nice to finish the day with a sense of accomplishment. Sure, I was without music all night–thank you crappy motel internet–and I discovered I may not have my internet up and running when I move into my new place on Friday–thank you Comcast management bullshit–so doing what I said I was going to do–write a short story and have it finished on Friday, 6 September, 2013–I went to bed with a certain goodness burning in my tummy.
Or was that the cod I had for dinner? No, I think it was goodness. I’m sure of it.
I know what you’re saying–what’s next, Cassie? What do you have on your writing plate now that you’ve written your short story and you have nothing else to do but let your royalties roll in so you can lay upon that pile of cash like Scrooge McDuck? (Yes, I stole that line from Breaking Bad. I steal from the best.) As I may have indicated yesterday, I need to get my NaNo novel whipped into shape. I need to figure out what I’m going to write, and the overall plot of the story. I have a basic idea, but not much beyond that, and I don’t want to wait too long to get this worked out.
I have editing to finish, and I intend to do a few chapters today and tomorrow. I want to write an article. I want to shop; I want to buy; I want . . . well, there’s a lot of things I want, but there are few things I get. But there will be editing. As for the article, I could at least start it, no?
Also, there’s this annoying story rolling about in my head . . . I don’t know why this fantasy erotica won’t leave me alone. It’s hanging out, nibbling at my brain, whispering, “You know you should write this, ’cause with all the crazy shit on Smashwords, you could be Queen of the Crazy Shit in no time.” Go away, kid, you bother me.
So much to want to do, so little time to do it all.
Guess I should get started.