It is by will alone I summon editorial responses. It is by the mailbox voodoo that the nomailman brings SASEs, the story acquires rejections, the rejections become contracts. It is by will alone I sell my stories.
**shakes the blood of a black chicken over the mailserver and hopes**
Memo: do not try to write characters smarter than you are.
They will bitch up your plans something awful.
687 words today, and lucky to get them. My hands hurt and my brain hurts and I don't feel good at all. In bed by ten tonight, I think.
I only got the words because I broke down and turned the AC on. It was 92 in the house. The dogs were like dogskin rugs on the floor, even with all the fans running and every window open. I need to slush and I need to get some more wordcount and I generally need the book to be done. I'm annoyed with my characters because they're being smart enough to weasel out of their dooms, and so I need to find new dooms for several of them. Although it may turn out to be an even shorter book than I anticipated--350 pages manuscript looks about right at this point. which is about 88K--a little on the light side, but a novel. Although it may fool me: they do that, and I have some backfill to do on the secondary significant plot.
I have 288 pages now, or 72K. And it feels like a long, long way to done.
But I will have a complete novel by June 30.
Oz Has Spoken.