10,100 words. I am not going to finish. And I am at peace with that.
Here's another excerpt, though, for your reading pleasure.
"Emma McClain, don you set one more foot towards the door!" Seb was down the hall, bellowing his demands.
She poised one foot as if to flee, and Seb looked terrified that she actually would.
"Don't go!"
"What?!"
"Emma this is your best piece so far. You can't just ... give me your best work and then run away! You can't quit now!"
"Oh, but I can!"
"But you shouldn't," impassioned Seb.
Emma paused. To her right stood the door. Ten more steps, and she'd be free. All she had to do was pick up that foot and run. Ten seconds, and she'd be on her way to a new life.
To her left stood Seb and Jane. Seb stared at her, knowing full well that her next movement determined not just her future, but his magazine's as well. Jane was a still life, frozen in expectiation. What will become of her? should couldn't help wondering. When she slips out that door, where will she go next?
Emma's gaze shifted from her boss and her friend to the gateway to her freedom.
Seb broke the silence. "Emma, just hear me out."
That was it. Emma's foot hit the floor, and she was gone.
"Damn it, I'm not letting her get away that easily." Seb ran through the door after, loafter clattering on the doorguard and tie flying back in his face.
Getting there
44, 498
And no writing tonight. I wrote this morning. Things are coming together nicely; not ever as expected, but nicely all the same.
Actually, now that I think about it, my characters aren't at all what I wanted them to be initially. But whatever, it's all good and it's almost all finished. I would be a happy person if I didn't have to worry about it on Friday night! Because Friday is going to be fuuun!
And sitting in an Irish pubby restaurant with my laptop could be done, but I don't recommend it for myself.
Cheers
Linds update
42,058
I wrote some insane and meaningless sentences that I'm not sure I can even share on here. They kind of have to be in context so that you can see that they are really out of context . . . well, whatever.
Going to Panera with Anna was a good idea. I got things done. And then I took Bartholemew here to the newspaper meeting and pounded out a few sentences before it started. I'm not sure if I can pull this off every night. What classes can I skip this week? Consider the possibilities while sleeping.
Goodnight
Sneak peak at the Anna novel
Strange, mysterious, and featuring one of the seven different tones that have invaded my novel. Enjoy.
Emma lilted down the stairs and prompted waved away the waiting cab. It was one a.m.; she was two blocks from home.
It was one a.m., and she had butterflies in her stomach. She was glad she had to write for Seb; there was no way that she was going to sleep anyway, and at least now she had something productive to do whilst trying to calm down and convince herself that the spasms clutching at her heart were nothing more than leftovers from adolescence that you would have thought she'd outgrown by 27.
But her heart was skipping a little, and she had to fight hard to keep her steps from doing the same. . . .
She
hadn't found the most wonderful man in the world. She had met a charming, gifted, intelligent man, whom she knew nothing of and of whom she had no reason to be so stupidly excited about.
Emma managed to talk herself out of her newfound glee by the time she reached the front door of her apartment complex--well, almost talked herself out of it. The writer was convinced; the sean nos singer wasn't.
A piece of my novel. Read at the risk of being either disappointed, amused, or confused.
“Molllleee, girl I come to see ya!”
And before anyone could react, there a figure stood in the crooked doorway. A figure stood there, wearing a cowboy had akin in shape to the one that The Man With The Yellow Hat wore in the old Curious George books. The figure wore tight jeans that made Molly turn her head in embarrassment. The figure jingled when it moved . . . spurs attached to the silver-studded imitation leather boots. The belt buckle the size of Mark’s fist gleamed in the store’s light.
Bart jumped down off of a ladder where he had been shelving books and walked on two legs over to the figure in the doorway.
“Clinton Westwood, you haven’t got any business being here. You know that! You’ve already bought half of the store as it is!” The koala’s eyes, already small and beady, became even smaller and scarier when he squinted in such a way. The same way he squinted at me when he met me, Mark noticed.
“Now listen hare, you little fuzzball. Ya varmit. I can come in hare if I want to. I’m buyin’ books.” The exaggerated Southern drawl made Mark’s skin crawl. Molly just stood silently behind the counter, figuring it was at least some kind of protection and barrier between she and Clinton.
“No, you’ve bought enough. You only buy them so you can come and see Molly. She isn’t stupid, man,” the Bart said in a controlled voice.
“Molly, I have a proposition for you. An ideeer! How about—if I fix this place up for you, make it all purty-liiike—you let me take you out to dinner. And then we can go and luuk at the stars in ma pickup truuck. And then we can go back to ma playce and—“
“That’s enough!” Bart screeched. (For, you see, although his voice was as normal as anyone else’s when he spoke normally, it became a dreadful thing to hear when he was upset.) “Out! I want you out!”
“Or what little guy?” Clinton squatted down to the koala’s height. “Are you gonna hart me?” And then he sniggered.
But Mark had seen enough. This man was a joke and annoyance more than anything. And Molly obviously didn’t want him here. She was cowering back there behind the counter!
“Listen here, partner.” Mark cleared his throat. “I think it is time for you to leave. Because, see, I’m here now. See? Me, here. So Molly doesn’t need you. I’ll be the one doing the fixing up around here. Got it?” He tried to imitate a cowboy stare.
It apparently worked. Clinton stood up and turned to the door.
“I’ll leave now. But I’m comin’ back, ya hear? Ya hear, Molly?” he shouted to her direction. “Clinton Westwood always gets what he wants. And baby, I want you!”
And with that, he tipped his ridiculous hat and walked out. They all watched him saunter down the street in his tight jeans, and cringed.
Anna novel update
Due to having company over the weekend and lacking a computer not shared with the rest of the household, I am only at about 1600 words, all from Friday. Two days without workin on my novel! That shall change today.
I may have to forsake my plan to write by hand and just "sketch" scenes by hand and then flesh them out on the clunky desktop computer. Is that cheating?
Linny novel Update
After spending 2 1/2 hours at Borders last night, I have reached Chapter 6 and 7,993 words. This is great and I hope I make the same progress today since it's a holiday and there won't be any more of those in September. I need to get ahead while I can...it's only going to get more difficult as the month goes on.
I managed to keep my coffee intake to just one 12 oz of Seattle's Best.
The soundtrack included Adiemus, Amelie, Simple Plan, Nickel Creek, OLP, and Snow Patrol.
After I finished, I stood up and felt kind of funny. Like, it was hard to function quite normally after concentrating and being so focused for so long and with only two short bathroom breaks.
update
Things are moving along quite nicely in this neck of the woods. I have one chapter of almost 2,000 words. I have only 48,000 or so to go! Victory is clearly in sight.
Anna and I have worked into the morning, the wind blowing loudly outside, strains of Chris Martin wailing from my stereo adding to the mood of Staying In and Being Inspired and Productive.
And now I am signing back onto IM since I have reached the daily word count.
Nerd alert
First quote that popped up on my Google page this morning: "Never tell anyone that you're: writing a book, going on a diet, exercising, taking a course, or quitting smoking. They'll encourage you to death." ~ Lynn Johnston.
How appropriate.
I went to OfficeMax last night and bought a pack of black Pentel RSVP medium point pens and a super cheap notebook to be my chosen tools of the trade. I seriously spent about fifteen minutes trying to decide what I wanted to use.
And a confession time: I was still awake at midnight, so I started the first couple paragraphs of my novel. And I took it to work with me, in case I get down time.
30 days. 50,000 words. 1 new obsession.
