Ferocity

Lovelies.

I haven't written a word since this morning. And yet, I did work. Those of you who've been with me since my novel dare journals may recall a book called Ferocious Dreamers. I started it last February. I pretty much entirely quit working on it in May, with about 52,000 words completed. The book got away from me. I hated it. I wrote it too slowly, and got bored with it. I'd started so many plot threads that I couldn't unravel them all. I'd pretty much given up on finishing it, actually. I've been thinking of starting another book, maybe in February... but something nagged at me. I didn’t want to leave this book undone, not if it had the potential to be good. I've found myself thinking about the characters from F.D. lately, and about cool scenes I had in mind that I haven't written yet.

So today I sat down and read the whole manuscript. Then I read my notes.

The manuscript... is good. From the very first line, I stayed interested. It's been long enough that the words looked totally alien, like I hadn't written them at all, but I still liked them. The book moves along, the characters develop, and cool shit happens.

Then I read my notes. I do not understand my notes. My notes read like missives from the mind of a schizophrenic. The later notes reveal just how much I hate the book, and how much I want all the characters to die. My plot notions are relentlessly downbeat, even horrific. That's the notes I can understand. I have lots of notes that make no sense whatsoever. What the hell does "the broken staff is a dream barometer" mean? I just read the whole half-novel, and there's no broken staff anywhere. What did I mean when I wrote that Marla "has a mind like a pointy rock"?

I dunno. Doesn't matter. Because now I see where the book's going. I see how plotlines resolve. I see how I've set up certain interesting outcomes. Screw my old notes. I'll write new ones.

I think it'll take another 50,000 words to finish the novel; maybe a bit less.

Scott leaves town on Tuesday. Pergolesi is shutting down for a while because all the college kids are out of town. I'm going to be home, and undiverted. What should I do?

Why, I should finish writing Ferocious Dreamers. What a good idea.

I really didn't want this year to be the first year since 1997 that I haven't written a novel. Hell, in '98 I wrote two novels. I intend to have the draft of a book by New Year's, barring the unforeseen.

Meg gets into town on the 27th. That means I have ten days to write 50K words.

Hee hee hee.

This is gonna be fun, y'all.