I’m giving my manuscript the once over—looking for stuff that spell check didn’t catch, names I might’ve gotten confused, conversations that might not make sense, etc. I knew that I’d gotten my chapter numbering off at some point, maybe even more than once, but figured I’d come to that sooner or later.
Turns out, it was sooner. I laughed out loud when I realized I’d totally skipped having a chapter 4. How did that even happen? Must’ve been a “write drunk” kind of night. Well, today’s an “edit sober” kind of day.
Now I’m hoping I’ll find an instance where I repeated a chapter number so I won’t be spending tomorrow typing nothing but numerals.
I’d add a number 3. Those who are merely disorganized and pretending to be insane.
I am having a bit of difficulty ending my novel. At this point, I’m well over the 90,000 word goal, but I’m discovering the challenge of easing my characters into a denouement. Jokingly I told a friend that I’d considered dropping a nuclear bomb on the town the characters reside in. It would be messy, sure, but it would definitely be the end.
To paraphrase what one wise sci-fi author told me in a conversation on Twitter, there’s never really an end. Don’t expect to be able to tie everything up in a nice package with all the loose ends accounted for. That’s not how life works.
He’s right, I know, but that bomb still seems like a plan. Is it too late to change genres? Asking for a friend.
I reached my writing goal today, and the day before, and the day before that. Surely I’m close to an ending, right? I’ve written right at 94,546 words. That seemed unthinkable just a month ago.
For my blog post today I took the easy way out. If you don’t giggle, snort, or guffaw over this one I’ll be amazed.
Usually I take Saturday and Sunday off from writing. I’m trying to adhere to a daily schedule just as if writing this novel was a paying gig. Then on Monday mornings I have to get back into the groove. I’ll go back and reread the last chapter or so and make any changes on the manuscript as a whole that occurred to me over the weekend.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve awakened in the middle of the night with a thought such as, “That tshirt couldn’t have matched her green eyes. Her eyes are blue, idiot.”
One would think my copious character notes would be all I need, yet sometimes in the heat of writing I get details confused.
Anyway, this past weekend I wrote a little bit on both days, just to hedge against the Monday morning “what the hell happened to my characters on Friday” confusion. I wish my brain could keep it all straight, but I’m like a freshly hatched chick every Monday.
My strategy didn’t seem to help all that much at first. On Monday morning I still had to spend some time reviewing what I’d written and where I needed to take the story. But as the day went on the words came more easily and when I reached a good stopping place I was pleased with the way everything had come together.
Will I still feel that way on Tuesday morning? Who knows?
Friday morning I sat down at my laptop to work on my novel. Folks, I was at 83,902 words, and yet I couldn’t get a single thought on the electronic page.
I’d type a bit, then delete. Type and delete. At the end of two hours I had 83,899 words. Yikes! I was going backwards. Studly Doright called around 9:30 a.m. to ask how the writing was going, and I just laughed.
He said, “Take a break.”
I reminded him that the last time I took a break from working on this novel it lasted seven years. This time, he laughed.
I went back to the WIP (Work in Progress) and sat staring at the screen. I picked up the book I’m currently reading and let it carry me away for a couple of chapters. Sometimes that gets me unstuck, but not this time.
Finally it was lunch time. Okay, it was only 10:30, but close enough. I put on some eye makeup and my mask (the one with books and a cat on it) and called Sweet Pea Cafe to order their daily special. I sat in their parking lot eating a sweet potato wrap with a side of hummus and veggies. So good.
Back home, I checked the mailbox and there was an oversized envelope addressed to me from my good friend, Flo. But not addressed to JUST any old me, to this me. Author me.
This little psychological boost was enough to give me a kick in the pants and I ended up writing over a thousand words that day. Flo, thank you!
The clippings she sent were ones Flo had found while going through her late sister’s memorabilia.
I remember reading about this woman who claimed to be Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova, the youngest daughter of Russian Tsar Nikolas II.
And yet many people believed that Anastasia somehow escaped the fate that befell the rest of her family and made it to the United States where she lived out the rest of her life. I need to reread the whole story. There are several movies about the young woman, at least two are animated.
Thanks to Flo, I not only got a boost for my writing, but much to ponder. If I ever get this thing finished and published, she and Studly get mentions for sure.
Years ago, back when Studly Doright was a competitive racquetball player, his primary nemesis on the courts was a guy named Alan (maybe spelled Allen, I don’t recall). Alan was an experienced racquetball player, and the best in our mid-sized Texas town, long before Studly began playing the game, and for years beating Alan at racquetball was Studly’s primary goal.
Now, Studly has always been a competitive soul, and at one time he was quite the athlete. Before long he and Alan were frequently in contention for the city championship. I forget which man ended up with the most first place trophies, but I do believe it was the love of my life. That would be Studly, not Alan.
Alan was, and likely still is, a hoot. He could psyche Studly out before, during, and after a racquetball match, and that was no easy feat. Of course, Studly could give as good as he got. Even when they weren’t on the court, the two played constant mind games on each other.
One day about a week before the city championship, Alan showed up at our home unexpectedly. Studly answered the door invited Alan back to the den where I was sitting on the sofa folding laundry. I had on my workout clothes, no makeup, and my hair was still wet from the shower. Immediately upon seeing me sitting there, Alan exclaimed, “Leslie, until this moment I never realized what a beauty you are!”
This declaration was definitely aimed at unnerving Studly before the big tournament, but for just a second I blushed like a teenager. Alan went on to praise my burgeoning skills in the racquetball court before leaving me with a few words of advice: “Never be in too big a hurry to win or to lose.”
I recalled Alan’s saying today when I realized that I’d been in such a hurry to finish my novel that I’d written a bunch of crap in the last two thousand words or so. What to do? I’ll chunk those words into my “slush” file and try again. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to take that action, but hopefully the last time. For this novel, anyway.
Normally Scout can be found acting as Studly Doright’s home office co-worker, and I have to work alone. We’ve decided she’s the head of Human Resources here at Doright Manor, and considers Studly to be more of an HR problem than I am.
Today, though, she’s been supervising my work. I’m not sure if it’s because she knows I’m coming to the end of the novel I’m writing and is trying to encourage me, or if she’s making sure I don’t slack off. Either way, she’s been sitting and staring at me for a good fifteen minutes. It’s kind of freaking me out.
Yesterday I started writing around 7:30 a.m. Two of my main characters were in a tough spot. One was dealing with something her daughter had just confessed while the other was attempting to reassure her without offering platitudes.
I worked on their conversation for about an hour and still wasn’t happy with it. So, instead of continuing to pound my head against my keyboard, I went back and read the whole thing from the beginning in an effort to crawl inside their heads in a different way.
The effort paid off and I think I’ve handled the conversation in a thoughtful way. At least it doesn’t sound like I’ve strung a bunch of cliches together. In the end, I managed to write 1,023 words on Wednesday, and I fully expect to finish my book within the next seven days. Eek!
I’ll have a party on that day. Jump up and down, cry, turn cartwheels, drink a glass of wine, and probably write a post about the event. Okay, Studly says no cartwheels, but everything else is good to go.
Praying for Eyebrowz 