I didn’t believe I was going to write last night. The moment I came home I ran out again, because I had . . . things. You know, I’m working on things, and I had to go out. So here, a week before Christmas, I’m out in rush hour traffic doing . . . things.
Of course one of the interstates here was messed up because somewhere there was an accident, and when there’s an accident here, it’s almost impossible to squeeze by because the roads are so narrow. So I went to get something to eat, and by the time that was over I was able to make my way home by taking the long way. Even the long way at The Burg isn’t that long, because this isn’t that big of a place. Made it home, did something to my thing, and there I was, seven o’clock, and I’m tired.
But writing was needed.
And so I wrote. And wrote. I got Annie off her broom and Kerry on his, and after a few wobbles he was able to start out on his paces. Now all I need is to finish the last scene–which isn’t going to be anywhere near as long as I originally imagined it, ’cause I’ve edited it in my head–and then it’s time to bring my little witch on stage and have her tell the kids if you’re using a wand to do magic, you’re a bit of a loser. No, really: she does. Tough crowd, I’m telling you.
The scene I finished last night is the longest I’ve written for the book. I was just short of six thousand words, and so far the scenes at the Flight School have run nine thousand. By the time I finish the last scene I’ll have ten thousand easy for just learning to fly, and the first day of the first week is over. Then it’s Tuesday with Wednesday, and later some astronomy. As for now, however, I have my kids flying–well, hovering in a hangar, going through basic control, and the next scene . . . yeah, into the storm to get your wings.
The thing that surprised me the most is I wrote nearly sixteen hundred words. That’s something I haven’t done in a bit, not since NaNo. But when I got to where I thought I should stop, I didn’t want to stop. I needed to finish, so I keep going until I reached the end. Pure and simple.
My Tuesday writing for my Tuesday classes may just inch me over eighty thousand words. If not, it’ll get me close. It’s easy to see right now that I’ll cruse through ninety thousand before this “week of school” is over, and by the time I have my kids resting on the shores of Lake Lovecraft, looking up into the warm September sky, I’ll be over one hundred thousand words for a story for the first time in about twenty years.
All that’s left after that point is to keep going and write more.
It’s not like I don’t have anything to say.