Palpitations = Bad

If I was ten years younger and/or had a tolerance for Red Bull, there would be a strong possibility that I would be able to finish this story tonight. When I was in college all-nighters were not only routine, they were fun. Unfortunately, I am old and energy drinks might make my heart explode. So as it stands, I'm still shooting for having the first draft finished by Friday.

Go me.

Can't Spell Ungainly Without "U"

Reached 300 pages last night. Here's the first exchange from that particular page:

“What about the squid ink?”
“I don’t care,” she said, taking off the sweater and tying it around her waist. She was burning up. “It probably tastes like shit anyway.”
“This is exactly why men don’t go to the bathroom together,” Nathan said, patiently untying the sweater from her waist and putting it over his arm. “Should I be calling your lawyer? Transferring large sums of bail money to my account before they freeze yours?”

Not as classic as the "my kitten's a whore" line, but it'll do. It also occurred to me when I was writing last night that I'm probably going to be able to finish this first draft before I leave for Chicago if I really put my mind to it. Lucky for me that I really love putting my mind to it when it's something like this.

Of course, it doesn't stop me from freaking out about various and sundry items such as whether or not a person would actually flip out over her boyfriend saying something shitty (I would, but I'm nuts), or if digging Xanax out of a vacuum bag is really funny or just tragic.

Yesterday I had a handful of Oreos and a glass of milk for lunch. Today I'm having a glass of sweet tea and some peanut butter crackers. The current theme is "things you can eat with one hand while you edit with the other." One day they will find me dead in my apartment with a highlighter and a manuscript, a half-eaten bag of Sun Chips by my hand and cats swarming over me like ants. Perhaps I should take up smoking.

Final Stretch

Some days you're really productive. Other days you spend 45 minutes dancing around the apartment to Kanye West and hoping ideas will come to you. Then you start going through your iPod and choosing theme songs for your main characters.

This morning, when I was running through the apartment in a towel looking for a notepad so I could write down an idea I had in the shower before I forgot it, I realized that if I really put my mind to it I can finish the first draft of this story before I leave for Chicago. I can't help but feel a little ambivalent about the idea. I've been working on this story since last December. I have a pile of notes, research, timelines (see Figure 1) and a printout of my rough draft thus far that you could use to beat rats to death. I even have some awesome character sketches courtesy of my buddy Lynn. You'd think I'd be ready.

Instead, I'm terrified. Part of me feels that I'll be relieved when it's done, but a bigger part is afraid that I won't know what to do now that I'm not writing it. Yet another part of me is looking forward to the editing process because it'll give me a chance to get to know my characters in a completely different way; the observer rather than the creator. Even then I won't really be done - it'll go to beta and I'll have to edit again before I start sending out queries with $20 bills tucked into them in an attempt to find an agent/publisher. So what am I worried about?

Oh, Kanye. You've failed me.

That Part Everyone Hates

The part where the oh-so-hip blogster explains why they're here and why you should absolutely adore them.

Screw that.

This is the place where I'm going to unload all the angst, spite and love I have for the manuscript I've been laboring over for the last five months, and which is rushing at an uncomfortably quick pace toward its conclusion. Trust me, there is going to be angst.

You've been warned.