Yesterday I stumbled over the halfway line in my word count, at the halfway point in the month. You would think happiness ensued, especially as it's been a battle with this story every step of the way. But no. No hopping up and down with glee in my world. Why? Well, belly up to the bar and I'll tell you...
Because I'm writing my NaNo book in America--unlike the thousands of folks who live elsewhere in the world and aren't about to face the
But since I have no time to plan a revolution at the moment, I'm going to have to try, really really hard, to write like a maniac over the next few days. I could wish the plot wasn't being so arbitrary, and if I weren't halfway to hell already, I would seriously consider throwing the whole mess in the burn barrel and starting over. In the meantime, however, I need to work with what I've got, even if it's torture and threatens to fry my brain.
So, I'll leave off with this, from one of the great writers. Words that I understand far too well these days...
"They can't yank a novelist like they can a pitcher.
A novelist has to go the full nine, even if it kills him."
~ Ernest Hemingway ~