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bear by san

March 2017

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bear by san

Daylight Again

...following me to bed.

Much like that joke about Jesus on the cross, calling to Peter over and over again, I can see the end of the book from here. I can tell. I just hit the downslope, and I felt the acceleration kick in.

It's a funny sort of sensation, a controlled crash kind of a thing. I know where I need to end up, and I know where all my bits need to be when I do it, but I need to make it look like a deadly accident in progress all the way to the end, when it needs to look merely fortuitous that I walked away unscathed. *g*

This is a good thing and a bad thing. It's a good thing, because I can see the end of the damned book. It's a bad thing, because for the next few weeks, until I kill it dead, dead, dead, expect me to be cranky, short-tempered when interrupted, unlikely to answer email, and disinclined to take breaks for anything less serious than the bathroom, a dying dog, or another pot of tea.

I hate being like this. But there's only one known cure: finish the book.

Approximately two hundred and fifty pages to go.

***

Strike off their heads, and let them preach on poles.
No doubt, such lessons they will teach the rest,
As by their preachments they will profit much
And learn obedience to their lawful king.

--Christopher Marlowe, Edward II Act III scene ii

Comments

*waves pompoms*

Go Team You!
Go on and finish the book. :o)

And one day we might just find out what happens when I get to the end of one.
(Goodness, I'm a worse ex-Catholic than I thought...)

What joke?

You Asked For It (Christian faith spoilers below)

Jesus, having been crucified, is hanging up there on the hill, tormented and in agony. Soldiers surround the base of the cross to keep his followers from attempting to free him.

Weakly, the Saviour lifts his head and cries-- Peter-- Peter--

Peter, upon hearing this, shouts, "My lord! I'm coming!" and pushes his way up the hill, is battered and bruised by the soldiers, and falls, rolling all the long rocky way down.

Weakly, the Saviour lifts his head and cries-- Peter-- Peter--

Peter, upon hearing this, calls, "My lord! I'm coming!" and picks himself up off the ground. He pushes up the hill, is battered and bruised, pummeled and kicked by the soldiers, and falls, rolling all the long rocky way down to the bottom of the hill.

"My lord, the way is too steep!"

Weakly, the Saviour lifts his head and cries-- Peter-- Peter--

Peter, despite his pain, whimpers, "My lord! I'm coming!" and picks himself up off the ground. He shoves up the hill, is battered and bruised, pummeled and kicked, beaten and flogged by the soldiers, and--

--manages to push through them to the foot of the cross. Clinging to the rough wood, he reaches up to touch Christ's holy foot and says, "My lord, what is it?"

Christ replies, Peter, Peter. I can see your house from here!

I can't help it. At least in my head, Kit thinks that's the funniest damned thing he's ever heard.

I can see the end of the book from here.
[...]
Approximately two hundred and fifty pages to go.


Wow! I'm really seeing the sheer size and scope of this novel now you've said that. We both have more or less the same number of words to write before reaching the end of our WIPs (give or take 10,000 words, probably). Except that you reckon you're near the end and I'm still at the beginning (just about to start Chapter 4)!
It's bigger than a breadbox, that's for sure.

Actually, I have the MS so far printed out, and technically speaking it's about the same size as a breadbox. One of the two-loaf ones.
This is a good thing and a bad thing. It's a good thing, because I can see the end of the damned book. It's a bad thing, because for the next few weeks, until I kill it dead, dead, dead, expect me to be cranky, short-tempered when interrupted, unlikely to answer email, and disinclined to take breaks for anything less serious than the bathroom, a dying dog, or another pot of tea.

It makes sense to me that such a massive project is going to exact a tremendous emotional cost.

I really look forward to having it in my hands to read. Watching its progess has been quite a road trip, with dashing asides in poetry, wit, and promising glimpses of favorite historical characters.
I almost think it's more fun to watch somebody else write a novel than write one yourself. They're so--consuming.