I took my notebook out of the house to do my writing today, because I wasn’t feelin’ the luuuuv at my keyboard, and I wrote about, mmm, 8 pages, which is somewhere around 2500 words.
And then I bashed into a wall. No, I didn’t even bash. I just sort of sauntered up to it and there it was, saying, “Look, you’re not going any farther until there’s some kind of structural support for what’s supposed to happen, because right now you’re so far off base there is literally no reason at all for what the synopsis says happens, to happen. Go back and fix things or you’ll never see the end of this book alive,” or words to that effect.
Oddly, I’m really quite cheerful about this. Possibly it’s because it means that for all intents and purposes the rough draft is done. The book’s not *finished*, but that doesn’t mean the draft’s not done.
So tomorrow I’ll type up what I wrote today, and print the damned thing out (which, combined, will be an all-day project), and Friday I’ll start revising. Yes. Strangely pleased about this.
Less pleased about somehow losing, or at least misplacing, my pedometer; I felt strangely unhappy walking around today (and I walked a lot) without my little counter of just how far I’d gone! Three months ago when I wasn’t in the habit of wearing one, guestimating didn’t bother me at all! :)
miles to Minas Tirith: 290.4