The Future Through the Past Today

Yesterday was my daughter’s birthday, which was the main reasons why I returned home last Friday.  I’d told her I’d be her to help her celebrate, and true to my word, I did.  I also watched a mammoth get its ass set on fire, which had its moments, believe me.

All they needed was for someone to quip, “Have fun storming the Wall!”

With all this happening yesterday, there wasn’t a lot of writing–which means I did manage about six hundred words at some point after 9 PM local time.  It wasn’t much, just Wednesday ratting out the kids with the video footage of what was happening down in Spell Cell #3 earlier that afternoon.  Though “ratting” is probably a little too harsh–Wednesday’s really not that sort of person.  After all, she did tell someone about that time she killed the school’s sorceress . . .


(This excerpt and next from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

A video began playing on Mathilde’s display. “What am I seeing?”

“This took place earlier today—Spell Cell #3. Had a couple of students request a fire cell because they said they were going to try a fire spell.” Wednesday glanced over to the headmistress. “Emphasis on ‘try’.”

“Why do you say that?”

On the video two students entered the spell cell. “Keep an eye on them: you’ll see.”

Mathilde closely watched the students—a girl and a boy—bring in two totes before unloading books and electronic gear. “Who are they?”

“Annie Kirilova and Kerry Malibey.”

The headmistress recognized the name right away. “Our Cernunnos A Levels? The ones the instructors are talking about?”

Wednesday nodded. “One and the same.” She punched the fast forward. “They’re putting wood in the fire pit, save for . . .” She returned the playback to normal, and pointed to one piece of wood set against the wall. “That one.”

“I see.” Mathilde leaned her right elbow on the armrest of her rather comfortable chair and stroked her cheek with her index finger. “And the reason for that?”



Yes, watch the magic, because that’s what’s happening.  That and what I ended the scene with . . .


Mathilde spun her chair to face Wednesday. “What project are they working on?”

“Holoč’s first part of the school year project. They decided they wanted to make charcoal?”

“And did they?”

“Yep.” Wednesday sped up the display, which showed the two children standing close together. “Not much to see here—”

“What are they doing?”

I was hoping I didn’t have to answer this one. “They’re hugging, maybe kissing.”


Kids, you’re so busted!  Not only are you on video snuggling, but the Headmistress is seeing this.  Wends, so not cool.  Then again, Miss Mathilde has probably seen them vanish under the comforters during the Midnight Madness, so is she really surprised?  Probably not.

Never fear, though, because there’s a method to Wednesday’s madness, and it’s coming out in another scene that’s coming up.  I’ll get there by the end of the week.  I think.  I feel I’ll finish this scene today, or at least I’ll put a big push on to get it done today.  After all, I don’t have that much to do . . .

But yesterday was also time for reflection, all because of a song.  See, yesterday I was playing a bit of Elton John on the computer, and Rocket Man was one that hit the repeat more than once.  That got me to thinking, because there was a novel I wrote–which is still unpublished, of course, story of my life–where that song came into play.  What novel am I talking about?  The first novel I ever started:  Transporting.  The one that took me twenty years to finish.

278,000 words of fun.  You gotta start somewhere, right?

278,000 words of fun. You gotta start somewhere, right?

The scene in question was one I wrote probably way back in 1990, maybe 1991.  Maybe.  It’s all so fuzzy, really.  I suppose I could pull up the original documents . . . which tell me nothing, because when I moved the original documents to my off-line drive in 2005, the creation dates were changed.  So I’m stilling with 1991 or so, because why not?

Rereading the scene in question I realized how much I’d missed these characters.  The moment I started reading I remembered everything about it, even though I haven’t looked at this particular scene in maybe three years.  But there it was, all coming back as I reabsorbed the words.

The scene is simple.  One of my time traveling people, Audrey, is back in time and on another planet trying to help the civilization there.  She’s in her private air/space ship Liberator, flying along with one of the residents of the planet, Callia, and the ship’s AI/Avatar, Maggie.  Since Liberator can fly through air or space, Audrey decides to take them up into orbit and let Callia see what her home looks like from a few hundred kilometers up.

That’s what this scene is about:  taking someone up and showing them secrets that no one else know, because Callia’s planet has only known air travel for a few decades, and space flight is something a bit off in their future.  Audrey is giving her a special experience, one that she alludes to she doesn’t feel is all that special to her anymore.

Because I’m in a good mood today, I’ll share it with you.  Keep in mind that Audrey, who is not from the 32nd Century, which is where she lives throughout the story, but was actually from the period of 1950’s to the 1980’s–when she was found and, ahem, taken–swears a great deal.  I make no apologies for the frequent f-bombs; if it’s any consolation, Audrey doesn’t, either.

Here you are.  Enjoy.  It’s allowed, you know.


(Excerpt from Transporting, copyright 1992, 2012, by Cassidy Frazee)

After a couple of minutes Liberator appeared to level out. The ground was still above the ship, but Callia could see it was far, far away. She understood the concepts of orbital mechanics, and so realized they must now be in orbit, falling around her planet. A slight tinge of excitement ripped through her body as she understood that she, of all people on her planet, had become the first people to ever see their home this way. She pulled herself up into a kneeling position, gazing outside, watching the surface of her planet rush by. She wasn’t aware the engines were off, the music had stopped, and Audrey was standing behind her, silent, letting her enjoy the moment.

When she thought the moment was right, Audrey said in a quiet voice, “Pretty fuckin’ awesome, huh?”

“It is incredible, yes,” Callia half-whispered back.

“You want me to get pictures?”

Callia turned, her face a mask of excitement. “You can do . . .” She realized how ignorant her question seemed. “Damn. That’s foolish of me.”

“What? Forgot where you’re at and what I can do?” Audrey laughed. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re entitled to it.”

Callia bit her lower lip and turned back to the view outside. “You’re far too kind to me, Audrey,” she said with a great deal of reverence.

Audrey shrugged. “Naw, not really. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be here.”

“Anyway . . .” Callia nodded, then turned back to her alien friend. “Thank you, regardless. This is something I’ll remember forever.”

Audrey really didn’t know what to say. To her, this sort of thing had become commonplace. Sure the first couple of times . . . it was a total gas. Now it was like driving to work: Been there, done that, seen it. Callia’s innocence and glee caused something to well up inside Audrey. She didn’t think she was going to get maudlin, but . . . it had been a long time since she’d done anything that had made someone this happy.

At least, she felt, not since the holidays.

“Yeah, a real Kodak moment.” She realized there was something else she could offer Callia. “Would you like to try free fall?”

Callia turned away from the window for just a moment. “How’s that again?”

“You know: weightlessness?” Audrey started making hand gestures of something floating in the air before her. “Like floating on air?”

“I understand some of the theories behind space flight,” said Callia. “I just thought—”

“You didn’t want to ask me about it?”

“I figured you’d likely have to turn off your systems and make the whole cabin . . . weightless.”

Audrey shook her head. “Ah, no way. On some other loser’s ship, maybe. But not mine.” She raised one eyebrow. “Wanna give it a shot?”

Callia’s face lit up with anticipation. “Yes, of course.” Her smile was blinding. “I’d love to try it.”

Audrey moved back from the front window, positioning herself to the side of her main seating area. “I think from here to the window would be a good zone,” she said. “Maggie, you wanna give us some help?”

Maggie appeared, rising out of the floor like Venus from the sea, only Maggie was wearing a simple long dress and sandals rather than being naked. “I know what you want,” she told Audrey. “How else can I be of assistance?”

“You think you can step in and help Callia keep her orientation?” asked Audrey.

Callia looked puzzled. “Won’t Maggie be affected by lack of gravity as well?”

Maggie stepped closer to Callia. “I’m the ship,” she said, smiling broadly. “Remember? I can’t float about. It’s impossible.”

“How awful,” said Callia.

“Yes, but there are many other advantages,” said Maggie. She put her hands on Callia’s shoulders as if to steady her. “Such as what I’m offering you now.”

“What?” Before Callia could react Maggie started lifting her slowly off the ground. A few seconds passed before Callia understood that Maggie had altered the conditions in this section of the ship so weightlessness was possible.

Maggie positioned Callia so she was perpendicular to the floor, then slowly moved her closer to the window. Hand rails appeared in the wall, allowing Callia something with which to situate herself on her own. “Comfortable?” asked Maggie.

Callia nodded. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Some people don’t adjust well at first: Space Adaptation Syndrome, it’s called.” Maggie decided that detailing the symptoms—swelling of the mucus membranes, dizziness, nausea—was not in order. As Callia seemed to be adapting quite will, Maggie thought it best not to put any ideas in the girl’s head. “But you’re coming along very nicely.” Maggie released Callia and gave her a tiny push towards the forward window.

The lights dimmed in the main cabin. Callia didn’t know if it was Audrey or Maggie who’d dimmed them, but it didn’t matter. The view just outside the window became even more brilliant as the planet below them passed into darkness—or was it them who were passing?—and the lights of the cities began to glow through the thin cloud cover. Callia held on to the railings for a moment, then let go and allowed herself to float free, her eyes locked upon the tableau below.

Music was playing throughout the ship once more, but as before Callia didn’t understand what was being said. Audrey was singing again, and Callia could pick out some of the chorus: something about it being a long, long time, and the touchdown bringing her around to find that she’s not the man she was back home—that was all very strange.

Callia was glad Audrey wasn’t a male, because only another woman would understand what Callia was feeling this very moment, understand that she wanted to see what one future was like, to be able to experience it, and then, when everything was prefect, to be left alone with her thoughts and emotions.

She performed a slow roll, stopping with little difficulty. She sighed softly and wiped away the globs of tears that had formed around her eyes. She mumbled a thanks to Audrey, knowing she’d never hear her words. Whatever the girl could do for her people, whatever the future might bring . . . it all paled compared to what Callia was living this very moment.

For these were the memories one was fortunate enough to take with them to their grave.

Under the Covers

Today is one of those days where I should have gotten out of bed with a lot more sleep, but that didn’t happen, so there’s a good chance I’ll find myself taking a nap this afternoon.  Ah, the lazy days of being off and doing nothing–save for going to the tax people near to noon.  Not a good time, but one that must be done.

I have to print off a few things and I’ll be set for five hours from now–probably four by the time I make this post.  Let’s hope I have everything.

Yesterday and last night I managed to edit six scenes for about fourteen thousand words.  There are five scenes left:  nine thousand, one hundred twenty-two words to go, and my first past edit is finished.  No rest for the wicked, however:  there are a few scenes that have paragraphs that feel clumsy still, even after I gave it a polish, and I’ll go over them again.  After all, I have time:  another four days to rest and relax before spending the upcoming Saturday driving back to The Burg.

The chapter edited yesterday dealt with The Midnight Madness, the first one my characters attended.  I needed to do some rewrites in these scenes, because I now realize I must have been tired as hell when I put the words down the first time as some of the stuff was just all over the place.  I’ve found that in a few sections, where my paragraphs came off sounding a bit like I might have been a little high while typing.  I won’t say that’s impossible, but a better guess is I was completely out of it after work, and the gibberish was the end result.

There was, however, a section of the story that, when I read it, always gets to me:


(All excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Yeah, I'm a sucker for kids and their tales of leaving things behinda


Yeah, I’m a sucker for kids and their tales of leaving things behind.  I read that section and I start getting weepy.  Why?  Maybe I identify with Kerry’s sorrow.  Maybe I had something similar happen, though not at that age.  Or maybe I feel there were times when I lost something precious, and the pain has remained to this day.  All of those are a possibility.

Something Kerry says will come back to him, however, because if there’s one thing his soul mate Annie does–and she truly is that, you can believe it–is listen and remember.  She doesn’t like him sad, and when he is, she is.  So there will come a scene where . . . well, she’ll turn that frown upside down, and give him something good to cry about.

Annie is about as loving a person as they come.  Yes, she’s a bit of a pain in the butt–just ask her parents–but for her lovey-dovey boy she’ll move mountains for him–or go all Dark Witch on someone’s ass if they say or do the wrong thing to him.  You can say all the mean and hurtful things to Annie you like, but you do not break bad on the soul mate.  You do not.

I mean, a character could try if they didn’t value their existence . . .

I’m sure someone will make that mistake.

Lateness and Latte

This is probably the latest I’ve slept on a Saturday morning in a long time.  Normally I’m up and out at my local Panera by six-thirty AM, but I’m at least six hundred miles away from the Panera I usually visit, which means I’m writing from my old library back at The Real Home with my music playing and my coffee next to me.  Not only that, but I’m being helped by my guest bloggers, Fran the Phoenix and Cthulhu, so give them a hand.

F'tuga'chuta'g to you all!

F’tuga’chuta’g to you all!

Needless to say, I didn’t get out of bed until about eight AM EDT, and it was a good sleep.  And that probably means I need a better bed back in The Burg, but since I’m little more than a transient there, I doubt that’s gonna happen.

Even after all the driving–which, I should point out, was done on very little sleep, which likely explains why I slept so well–I edited.  I chatted with a few people, but I was editing like crazy, too.  I headed into Flight School, the beginnings in the Hanger and the test in the storm, before rolling over to Professor Wednesday’s Basic Spells Training and a couple of someone’s getting their witches’ hats for completing their first assignment.  (I should add that into the scene because it’s cool, and it is something Wednesday would do.)

But I came across something I’d forgotten, something that happened back in the Briefing Room at the Flight School.  This is going to happen from time to time, because I’ve a hundred and forty thousand words to sift through, and little gems are gonna get missed.  But the moment I began reading this section it came back to me.  It’s the first paragraph–

(All excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Kerry knows when all else fails, turn to The Doctor for smoothness.  Which might get your slapped, but hey . . .

Kerry knows when all else fails, you turn to The Doctor for the right thing to say to your special someone. Which might get you slapped immediately afterwords, but hey . . .

And because I’m such a stickler for getting it right, I know that line was said during The Doctor’s Wife, which aired on 14 May, 2011, and since this is 5 September, 2011, it’s all good.  Research!  Plus Kerry’s a geek and it all fits with him.

But a nice thing happened last night.  I was conversing with someone who knows Kerry and Annie very well, and they were reading one of the excerpts of their adventures together.  After they read my snippet–which had to do with a special moment in Annie’s life–they told me, “That was beautiful.  It’s all about her.”

Writers do not get a lot of feedback while they are in the middle of the process, and if they do get any it’s usually along the lines of, “Yo, this kinda sucks, you know?”  But when you sweat over a scene in the hopes of having it turn out as something special, when someone who you know is gonna tell you if that scene sucks instead tells you it’s beautiful–that’s when your heart sings out loud.

To say I went to bed with a big smile on my face is something of an understatement.

I have Astronomy class up next, then it’s off to Formulistic Magic and moving some crap in Botany class.  I may even make my way into Thursday at Salem on the Cape at this rate.

This week is certainly going a lot faster this time around.

This week is certainly going a lot faster this time around.

And then . . . it all starts anew.

I can’t wait.

Wandless Moments

Here it is, a little after six AM, and already I feel tired.  Getting up around four-thirty does that to you.  Don’t ask why I got up that early–my body decided it was time to awake, and so I did.  Considering how tired I was last night, I had hoped to sleep until the alarm went off, but no.  I’m here, up and writing.

Because I was tired last night I had little motivation.  Because I had little motivation, I didn’t write much:  maybe half of what I’ve written the last few night.  Also, my mind was on something else as well, but really:  motivation was a huge factor in not getting things done last night.

However, I did write this:


(Excerpt from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

A student raised her hand, appearing concerned. “Excuse me, Professor?”

Wednesday checked her tablet to find the name of this particular student. The software they used picked up encoded information from the star on their jacket and sent that to each instructor’s tablet while in class. She saw this was Elisha Tasköprülüzâde, the girl from Turkey “Yes, Elisha?”

Elisha didn’t know how the teacher knew who she was, but that wasn’t important at the moment. “I know this may sound a little strange, but don’t we . . .” She felt a bit embarrassed, but she needed to know. “Why aren’t we using wands?”

Ah, here it comes . . . “Do you think we should use wands?”

“I don’t know.” Elisha was like most everyone here: she knew nothing of magic, and growing up where she did learning about things like magic wasn’t always easy. But everything she’d seen told her one particular thing— “All the stories I’ve seen say witches should have wands. Don’t we get wands?”

Lisa’s friend Anna spoke up for the first time that anyone could remember. “You used a wand, did you not, Professor?” Her eyes were now alive and quizzical, not flat and dead as they had been since arriving last Thursday. “You do have a wand, no?”

“Why, yes, I do. Now where did I put it?” Wednesday crossed her arms and tapped her right foot. “Oh, right. Here—” She snapped her fingers and a wand appeared in her right hand. “This is my wand. You liked it?” She held it up for the whole class to see. “I bought it online three years ago—don’t remember the name of the site, but they had a lot of wands for sale.”

She turned around and set her wand upon her desk. “Wands are foci: they are employed to assist a witch with channeling energy from mysticspace so they can power a spell or enchantment. You’ll see witches use them, but they’ll have trained at other teaching facilities, not here at Salem.” Wednesday almost snorted. “And none of them will have graduated from my class.

“I’ve never used a wand. While they have their place in the magical world, they have no place in this world. I won’t show you how they work, I won’t show you how to do magic with one. As long as you are in this class—or any of my classes—you’ll never hold one, save maybe for a picture, or when you go into Salem on a weekend day pass and you want to fool around with the sightseers. Beyond that, however—” The wand levitated about a quarter of a meter above Wednesday’s desk: she snapped her fingers and it vanished. “No wands. Ever.”


Oh, Wends, you dream crushing little bitch.  You just know some kid was sitting in that class imagining that one day they were going to face off against someone, point their wand at them, and scream, “Expelliarmus!”  And here you’re telling them, like a larger version of Edna Mode, “No wands!”  Naturally some kid smarts off about this, and . . . well, tonight he gets shown what you can do without a wand.  Yeah, it’ll be great.

In writing about six hundred and fifty words, I managed to get the word count over eighty thousand.  Only two of my works have ever made it this far, and this story will move beyond number two on the list.  Maybe that will happen this weekend:  we’ll see, as I have a lot of things I need to take care of this next week, and I may actually miss a day of writing.

But one of those things won’t be getting a wand.

‘Cause Wednesday won’t let me.

Hanger Babies

The saying goes, “If the wifi doesn’t work at one Panera, go west young–er, old girl.”  Which is exactly what I’m doing this morning.  I ventured out and headed west over our now ice-laden river, and ended up at a location where the wifi is letting me.  Maybe I’ll try the other Panera next weekend, but for now I have found another home to call my own.

Where am I in the story?  Out of the ready room and into the hanger–or, if you prefer normal building designations, off the first floor and down to the ground floor.  And why hanger?  Call sign for the Flight School is “Carrier,” and as Annie was told, if you think of the building in that sense, then all the “aircraft” are gonna be kept in the hanger.

Vicky is showing the goods.  The students have seen a whole lot of storage cabinets with a whole lot of things inside them, and Professor Salomon is proud of the program she’s put together.  Now it’s time for her to give you a lesson, so sit back while I let her speak:


(Excerpt from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

The students parted as she waded into the group once more. “What are we going to do? We’re going to fly. But how? Let me show you.” Vicky placed her hand behind her butt like she was reaching for something; a second later her hand appeared holding a long metal pole that appeared from out of thin air. She allowed a few of the students their gasps of surprise before moving ahead with the lesson. “This is my baby.” Vicky held the simple pole with an oval piece of metal at one end in front of her for the students to see. “She is a Qunkat Mark III, and I’ve had her since they started making these in 1995. They stopped making the Mark IIIs in 2003, but on the professional circuits you’ll still see these going head-to-head with the Mark IV and Vs. They are that good, especially if you’ve made a few mods to them—as I have to this one.”

She slowly lowered the broom to her side. “What makes these fly? Originally PAVs were brooms, because it was easy to enchant the wood and get them to hold a charge.” She waved off questions. “Wednesday will go into that more tomorrow. What you need to know is if you want to fly a real broom, you can find on, enchant it, power it up, and take off on that sucker. You won’t have all the niceties of what we have here, but you can say you’re a honest-to-goodness witch on a honest-to-goodness broom.

“Once The Foundation got their hands on some real brooms and began to reverse engineer them, they figured out not only how to improve them, but how to keep them powered indefinitely. See, you can enchant a broom to get it fly, but if you don’t re-power the enchantment now and then, you might just find yourself plummeting to the ground when you least expect it. Not only that, but have you ever thought about sitting on a broom? Sure, you could use some magic to make them a bit more comfortable, but—” She shook her head. “Who wants a hunk of wood stuck in their crotch for a few minutes, much less a few hours?”

Vicky turned the rod around and held it in both hands. “The Class A PAV is a simple thing. A meter-seven long, made of carbon-carbon filament—” She placed a hand under the oval attachment at one end. “The processor keeps the enchantment charged through constant energy replenishment. And where does it get that?” She grinned as she looked upon her students. “Tell you in a minute.”


Vicky is a chatty one, isn’t she?  The important thing is in the construction of the world.  The PAVs are manufactured, constructed, crafted as a device to be used.  And yet there is something different about them:


(Excerpt from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Swinging her right leg over the hovering broom, Vicky positioned herself on the seat in one smooth, seamless move. She leaned forward and placed her hands on the PAV while her legs folded up and back under her, as if they were being held in place. She brought up the HUD before sitting up part ways, one hand still lightly touching the broom’s shaft. “As you can see, once you get used to learning how to pilot on of these, it’s a lot like riding a bike—only you’re usually floating around at a couple of hundred meters above the ground, so if you fall, it hurts a lot more.

“Now, that part about recharging the enchantment that keeps it flying . . .” She twisted around and laid her free hand against the oval metal attachment she’d called the processor. “Normally this will supply enough energy to keep the enchantment running for close to a day, and it also draws enough power on its own that if the enchantment is drained, it’ll power it back up after a good night’s sleep.

“But when some one is flying a PAV like this, the processor draw energy directly through the pilot. Why? Because the pilot—me, you, whomever is up here—can channel enormous amounts of mystical power—” Vicky waved off a couple of hands that popped up. “Wait until tomorrow, Wednesday will cover that . . .” She turned her body so she was facing forward again. “The pilot is the biggest source of power, and since the processor can pull energy from them, you literally find yourself in a position where you never need worry about your enchantment draining and causing your PAV to crash.”

There was mumbling from a few of the students. One of the girls from Australia, Loorea, chuckled. “The bloody thing is a vampire.”

“You’re not the first one to say that.” Vicky swung her right leg over the broom and sat side-saddle so she could look at Loorea. “That’s what a lot of people have called it over the years. And they’re right: it is taking something from you—only what it gives you in return is the ability to stay in the air and fly for as long as you’d like.”


Yes, sir, let that thing suck the power right from you.  What’s the worse that could happen?  Don’t worry:  that doesn’t occur.  You think I’d kill my kiddies off with a cheap stunt like that?  Don’t answer that.

There is also a rather nice scene I put together down here.  It’s sort of between Kerry and Annie, when the former has to pick out a broom for the later, ’cause she’s about to show the class how to fly one of these things.  What does he do?


(Excerpt from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

He flipped open the one on the left, ‘cause being left handed he always followed what his creative right brain told him. The PAVs were on a carousal with left-right push buttons next to a digital counter just inside the door. The simple thing would have been to pick the broom right there in the front, but that was too easy. He started playing with numbers in his head. We first met on the twenty-seventh of August, so four days until the end of that month, and now it’s the fifth of September . . .

He hit the left button and saw the counter advance to the number two. He cycled through the carousal until the ninth broom came to the front, then stopped. He lifted it off the hanger expecting it to be heavier than it was: he figured it weighed no more than a couple of kilos.

Kerry returned with the broom and handed it to Annie with both hands. “Here you go, Sweetie: Number Nine Dream.”

Annie didn’t hear the snickers from a few of the students behind her. All she saw was Kerry offering here the broom, and all she heard was him calling her Sweetie. “Thank you.” She took the broom he offered, then turned and approached Professor Salomon. “I’m ready, Professor.”


Obviously Kerry’s been hanging around River Song far too much.

It didn’t seem as if I did a lot of writing yesterday, Part Three Chapter Sixbut once I figured in the total time putting words down on the electronic page, I ended up with a little over thirteen hundred words for the day.  I hope to finish out this scene today and move onto the last of Chapter Six, which may or may not be as long as this scene and the last.  As you can see in the picture to the right I’ve been a tad wordy with my flying shenanigans, and since the scene I’m in now is probably going to end up another two thousand words longer, I may just skip the last scene–or make is a lot shorter than what I have imagined.

Right now I’m closing in on seventy-five thousand words, and if I turn the end of Part Four as the end of Episode One of Book One (did you get all that?), I’m easily looking at over a hundred thousand works just for this opening part.  I’ve two more episodes to get my kids through the rest of their A Levels at the school–and they have five more years of education ahead of them.

Damn.  I’d say I got my work cut out for me.