Patience, Grasshopper

I’m having a hard time typing tonight because of a bandage on my middle finger. I managed to stab myself with the point of my pen, drawing blood and everything. I’m not sure how I did it. I just have a gift for that kind of thing. (I’ve broken my ankle and my elbow, tripping on nothing.)


Yesterday I wrote over 500 words. Today I ripped them all out; they weren’t right. On one level, I’m aggravated; on another, I know I had to write yesterday’s words in order to get to today’s.

I really want this book finished; I really want to have finished something. I want that amazing moment when you get to the end and you know you’ve made something, something whole. I also want to finish the book because I sometimes suspect I’m working on something exceedingly cool. I won’t know for sure if it’s as cool as I think and hope it might be until it’s finished.

I get a little discouraged when my spreadsheet tells me I won’t finish until June 2011, but I have to realize that calculation includes all the negative numbers created when I delete scenes. I think it might be worthwhile to see what happens if I calculate things without all those cuts. At the very least, it’ll show me possibilities. And I’m pretty sure I’m not hacking out whole scenes going forward; I’m pretty sure there’s nothing left for the machete.

We’ll see.


Heh. I did the calculation. If I keep up the same pace — 250 words a day — I’ll be done next April. April, 2010! O frabjous day!


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