I spent last week sorting and printing the beginnings of a novel that has been buzzing around in my mind for a little while. I started in earnest on March 1. I set a goal of 1,000 words a day five times a week to get me started. I flew through March and April. Happily sitting; words pouring out of me.
Then I hit Easter. My main character took me on a fairly dark journey through Holy Week. I myself had a lovely Holy Week. Wonderful, bouncy energy at our church; garden in full bloom; family brunch, etc. Even the stations of the cross on Good Friday weren't as solemn as other years -- we went to the children's service and a number of children from a Coptic group joined us, so there were new faces and a great sense of community.
I've done little fresh writing since Easter. Yes, I got busy at work; yes, I have houseguests. But I had some time this week so I printed and hole-punched and found a fresh white binder to put everything in. I even found a great photo of Stella Abrera as the Lilac Fairy to put on the cover (working title).
I have nearly 40,000 words. Nothing to sneeze at. Remember that "The Great Gatsby" is only 47,000 words.
I sat again on Friday to work on some fresh content. Ok, so the main character is in a sad little corner. Let me jump forward and time and start at a different place (one of my favorite things to do). I managed 700 words in about an hour. But I just didn't like it.
So, remind me again, why am I doing this?
