Number nine, number nine, number nine. That’s what you get when you bring together the numbers for the post. Don’t know if it means anything, but there it is in all its glory.
Last night I inched over the line into one hundred nineteen thousand words, which adds another nine to this party. I do mean inch, too: I think my final word total was 119,007. I had what I was looking for, but I semi distracted myself looking up marvelous pastry confections cooked in Ireland and Wales. Didn’t find any in Ireland, but found some for Wales, and that was added to my “Things Kids Talk About When They’re Sitting on a Sofa in the Middle of a Big, Dark Room” list.
Plus, I ended the new scene in a spot that, if I’d gone on, I’d have broken my chain of thought for the scene, and when I’d come back to it tonight I’d probably screw something up in the continuation. I believe it was Chuck Wendig who said when you’re writing end your time with your characters on something of a cliffhanger moment, so when you sit back down at your story, you’ll see that, you’ll wonder what’s next, and the creative juices get flowing again. When I see that point in my story, I stop and recharge–
But it’s not as if I don’t know where the story is headed. I know what comes next, I know what Annie and Kerry say next, and I know who I’m introducing in the story next. Yes, at nearly one hundred and twenty words into the story, I’m bringing in another character. And why not? I’ve already had something like twenty characters speak, so throw in one more.
And just because I’m a bit nuts, the people who have so far had speaking part are: Annie, Annie’s mom, Annie’s dad, Mr. Mayhew, Kerry’s mom, Kerry’s dad, Kerry, Ms. Rutherford, Collin, Alica, Headmistress Laventure, Deanna, Erywin, Helena, Adric, Isis, Coraline, Madeline, Victoria, Wednesday, Harpreet, Emma, Jessica, Holoč, Bianca, Gretchen, Ramona, Matthias, and finally Una. Forgive me–twenty-nine speakers. Now I bring in number thirty–this is a party, people, so let’s rock!
I’ll finish up the current scene by this weekend. I have something I need to work on tonight, so even if I do get to the novel, I won’t write much. Maybe I will put in a few hundred words to get it where it’s suppose to be, but if not, there it always Thursday and Friday evenings. Then just one more chapter and a bit of fanfare, for Act One will be in the books, so to speak. When? Maybe another ten days, maybe less, maybe more. But this project should come to an end within the next two weeks.
I keep saying that, but this project won’t end for a long time. I know this, and I keep telling myself this, but a part of me cringes whenever I figure out just how much I have left to write. By the end of May I’ll have spent almost a year prepping and writing, and if I’m lucky I’ll be about half way into Act Two by then.
Oi. Why do I do these things to myself?