|My name and title here?|
I'm not telling Sally that Diana hasn't been getting enough attention from me the past week or so, either.
I have been behind on my word count since the 12th.
That being said, I have managed to at least open the file and look at the words, if not write any, almost every day without fail. My characters are solidly in my head. I walk through the setting every day as I make my way around town, always noting details I can add in to flesh out the world. My mind works even as I sleep to make connections and fill plot holes, almost like the story is already told and my concious mind is just discovering it. My subconcious mind already knows it.
I've written more words on this story than I have for any story I've ever written. Even my two and a half Sally Prescott short stories don't equal where I'm at with Monsters. I may still be sloshing my way through the Bog of Doom (and believe me, I've gotten lost in there a couple of times), but I know that I will make it to the end. I have about 15,000 more words to wrap up my story. I'm starting to worry that might not even be enough.
Sometimes calling myself a writer seems so ridiculous. But after spending my whole weekend reading, I sat down to my own novel on Sunday night and I realized that I am actually writing a freaking book.
Me. Writing a book.
I know that's the goal as a writer, but to actually have a nearly finished manuscript that will actually be book length...is completely surreal to me.
Now whether this book is any good, or will ever be published, only time will tell, but when this story is finished and I've reached my 90,000 words, I can say that I've written a book.
I just might be able to do this.