The day off saw a lot of working getting done. More than I expected, actually, but because there wasn’t a whole lot of other things to do yesterday, it was writing time. This last weekend has been a good one for it, honestly.
Because of this good weekend, my time is quickly drawing to an end.
The penultimate scene of Act One is probably the shortest one of the book so far. It’s a story of the aftermath of a few hours of flying together, of what they saw and how it felt. There’s a snippet where, after buzzing The Pentagram a couple of times, Annie and Kerry touch down in the garden and walk into the Dining Hall in their flight clothes with their PAVs slung over their shoulders. It’s a nice little touch because the place would be about three-quarters full, and the rest of the students would recognize them as A Levels who are apparently out flying–on their own. Not something that happens very much, and it’s designed to show that (a), they are doing really well their first week, and (b), they aren’t there to show off, they’re there to eat.
Then it was into the last scene, and there’s a short talk between Helena and Erywin about people being . . . concerned. Why? This conversation is taking place just after midnight Saturday, which means it’s the first moments of Sunday. School started on Monday, 5 September. Do the math, see the date, and hear Helena talk about how she’s fine, and that people shouldn’t think she’s a sammie short of a picnic and about cold fire the school to the bedrock. They also talk about something Helena gave Annie–besides a promise not to electrocute her boyfriend again–and then we find the lovey-dovey couple fast asleep.
That’s where I left it, because I didn’t want to push the next few hundred words. That’s for tonight. That’s something I can save so I will have time to watch what’s getting written and get it right. I know what’s going to be said: I just want to say it right. I’m almost at the end of the path: I don’t want to make any missteps at this point.
There’s a strange sort of endorphin high starting to take over now that I know the end is close. I’ve felt this before: you feel relaxed and content and stress doesn’t seem to beat you down any more. It’s all good and well, like the body is finally purging all the bad stuff that has accumulated during the writing of a piece.
Now all that remains is the “The End”. But this isn’t The End, it’s “End of Act One”, and there’s a lot more to come. A lot more. There will be one story written this year, but it’s gonna be this story, and it’ll be huge.
That the future. Right now, I have a present that needs dealing.
And then I can put my kids to bed.