The Rebecca thread is now officially up to page 77 from writing the past three days! (Again, still not counting those beach pages and any that might be salvaged from the former thread.)
Twenty-four pages beats my former grad school submission packet record speed of 22 pages in one day. I remember how I used to wait until the weekend and get those packets ready. It was more fun under pressure. I remember my hands hurting that day. But you’ve heard enough about the hands, and they’re not so bad today after all.
Today’s writing was fast and furious plotwise. I kept surprising myself and my characters. Word Raccoon grabbed the keyboard and she was off! I had to lure her away from it with freeze dried sweet bites, and now I’m trying to get the bag back from her before she does them serious harm.
The sneaky raccoon must have turned off my alarm this morning, because I woke up an hour and a half later than I intended to. Then I could not get myself going; it was one of those “Stanley, give me a list and a countdown” days. Once I had some caffeine and a shower, I came to.
I can’t overstate how much today’s writing session did for my novel. Major issues solved, new issues created. Nothing neat and tidy. Misunderstandings. Miscommunications.
It is full of texts two ways (text messaging and full texts, like books), letters, notes, clues, and reversals. You know, your typical campus novel/literary mystery. I’d say “All Novel, All August” is working, though WR reminded me that we rescheduled one medical appointment only to pick another up.
Furthermore, she noted that we did not go to the gym yesterday or today. But we did work out at home today, silly raccoon! That’s something. Sometimes you’re in the writing zone and nothing else exists. And that’s okay.
There was a fill-in barista at the cafe today, James, and I wondered if that was a sign from my novel, but though this thread speaks of James, he is not in it per se. I did not let WR steer us in that direction. Rebecca is speaking. Loudly. We let the dominant character have the floor. Always.
Though it was chilly on the café porch and rainy, it was worth the view. And warmer than inside the place.
I was glad to have on my scarf that I bought on my first trip to Paris. It’s très tourist, but I like it.
Eye and hand resting time now. I have left Rebecca in a very vulnerable spot today; here’s hoping tomorrow remedies that.
Drema
P.S. A literary journal said that my poem, “A Handkerchief Will Do” made it to late rounds but ultimately was not chosen due to space constraints. Dang it. But I appreciated the positive feedback. The poem is about a trip I took to England, where I struck up an hour-long conversation with someone about Sons and Lovers at the airport, only for him to later ignore me in the Jane Austen Centre. For reasons that the poem knows. (No names are named, nor titles. I don’t even know if we exchanged names, but sir…)