Updates

90K or finish by Sunday. Dare me.

Just bear with me.

The last one of these I posted was back in March, and it looked like this: What the fuck have I been doing the last five months? Besides moving and having a day job and getting on the pump? Fuck, no wonder I’ve felt so fucking wacked out. As of this morning: Yeah, seriously. 3K

When, after 80,000 words, a new character (new to this book) finally starts to become a real person, and you realize you’re very proud of how well she’s grown up.

I am so fucking ready for this book to be DONE. And I have 6,000 of the last 20,000 words in hand…. … in scribbled notes and loose scenes and last night I wrote a really icky drug withdrawal torture scene, and this after I thought I was done writing icky scenes. I’m thinking that

I’m working on line edits this morning, and while paging through the typical “take out the ‘and’ insert a period” types of edits (I have a lot of winding, comma heavy sentences that must get truncated during revisions. This should not surprise anyone who reads this blog, or anybody who’s seen first drafts of my

I think she’s an even tougher character to write than Rhys. But then, he was pretty tough to write the first time I took a crack at him, too. Fucking shape-shifting, middle-class, mother-of-two rebel cell leaders. Pain in the ass every time.

Finally on schedule again. I’m going to go collapse now.

I’ve officially passed through the Dreaded Middle of the book. This isn’t so much a word count thing (I thought, until I did the word count) as a scene thing. The worst is over, and now we’re going out to kick some ass. This fact does, however, neatly dovetail with this afternoon’s wordcount (still 2500

Why is it that the happiest scenes are always the hardest for me to write? Maybe because, in my books, happy scenes always mean the worst is about to happen.