Today, like Sunday night, I started with a plan.
Broke down the day into half hour chunks on a piece of paper, made a list of the things that I wanted to do that day, and then slotted them in where I thought made sense. Writing was at the top of the list, as well as dog-walking, reviewing a saved show on the DVR for research, reading and general farting around (as it is my Sunday, after all).
Specifically, writing the rest of Chapter 23, the big turning point of the novel. After this, it all goes so quickly downhill for my poor protagonist. I have kicked her in the head and sent her spinning. She’s either going to pick herself up and swear revenge, or curl up in a ball and die. Guess which one?
First thing this morning I got to it. In an hour and half (broken up into first an hour, then the dog walk, and then a second hour where I had to type around my sulky cat) I got out over 1,700 words and finished the chapter.
And I seem to be tapping into something I’ve only briefly felt before with my malformed (but drafted and dutifully trunked) first novel. I’ve crested the hill. I’ve climbed, sometimes with on a clear day and sometimes in darkness, knowing that there is something on the other side of the hill by faith alone, but now I’m at the top. I can see the other side of the hill and I know momentum and gravity will take me the rest of the way. It’s a relief of sorts, because my faith has been rewarded.
So it’s downhill for both of us, me and my protagonist. I’m up for it. Hopefully she is, too!