Words About Writing

Praise God! I'm making progress! If I don't finish this by the end of tomorrow, it'll be close, at least. I'm in the middle of a good writing-run, but wanted to pause my work to document my success. I had reached the point a couple days ago where I knew which ending (already written) I wanted to go with, but needed to finally join that part of the journey with the place where I was. I'm now heavy into the last act, and it's flowing well. That may change, of course, but right now I'm feeling very good about this long sequence of words! I even took a break from the computer to lay on the floor with a notebook and jot down the next bit. That helps. So I'm doing it. I'm getting it. The end is, once again, in sight.

Finally, I have postponed some things until September. Granted, September isn't very far away, but hopefully it's far enough. I've been trying to finish this novel (draft 1) for ages, it feels. I'm close enough now that maybe a week is enough time to get there. If not, I have some thinking to do. My brain is filled with the other WIP, the one closer to "done". I'd postponed the (hopefully-)final edit to write this beast I'm now trying to end. I only expected to postpone editing for a few months. I want to get in and finish it! So I need to set a deadline for finishing draft 1 of this current novel. The good news is, as long as it seems to be word-count-wise (the draft, that is), when I did the math, it was only 360 pages so far. That's not as outrageously long as I thought! So, after an incredibly long first draft gets edited down, I'm guessing I'll end up with about a 400 page novel.  Do-able. Definitely do-able.

I wish I had cancelled some things to make more time to write, as I suggested at the end of my last post... OVER A MONTH AGO. It's August, and no, I didn't finish it. Life intervened. There were some chaotic things happening in my neighborhood, plus a bout of depression, plus a few "official" issues to resolve. And now we are in a second actual lockdown. You'd think a lockdown would make it easier to find time to write, but I'm lost in that space called "lack of motivation". I've been there often enough in the past few months that it needs a better name. It's basically my second home. A place shouldn't be a "lack of," but what is the presence? Can I call it the Space of Ennui? The Headspace of Ennui? Or am I simply possessed and controlled by ennui? I think it's more complicated than that, but it doesn't matter. The fact is, progress is slow. Oh, so slow. Getting out of bed these days is an act of will power.