Do I have the time?
I’m scribbling everywhere I go and typing into the night, slapping promise patches over plotholes: Plant this in chapter three. Did you use this already? Check airline regs. Go back and break her mirror.
I’ve written more in the last two weeks than I have in the previous two months.
It seems to be working—the words are there, thrumming in the background when I drive or work or blog.*
But I have four days to get to the end.** And that’s not ninety-six hours of solid writing time—it’s more like twenty-two.
This whole experiment could be another dreaded learning experience: self-imposed deadlines are not to be shared.
But even if I have to come back Saturday and say, hey, not quite, I’ll be a lot closer to finished than I was.
But I don’t want to.
Butt in chair. Rear in gear.
*Blogging doesn’t seem to slow me down—it takes time, but I have to come up for air once in a while. It’s a nice breather and sometimes working on something completely different knocks something loose in my WIP. ‘Sides, I’d miss you guys.
**Though I wrote most of the end during the baseball game Sunday. Got a fantastic sunburn, too — I sunscreened everyone else, and then Sunny fell down and I forgot that I work inside all day and will sizzle in the sun, brunette or no. Janie needed my hat, so the top of my head is tender and my nose resembles a strawberry. Thank heavens for aloe in a pump bottle.