We bloggers love our alliterative blog schedules, don't we? Since I love alliteration as much as the next person, I henceforth declare Wednesdays as the day in which I talk about my WIP and ask you awkward and random questions about your own works-in-progress, writing process, etc.
Word count: 46, 503
Goal: in the ballpark of 75,000
Genre: women's commerical (Southern) fiction
Terrible one-line summary without spoilers for my CPs: A graduate student with a troubled past must choose between herself and her family when an unexpected event throws everything she's worked towards into chaos. [Could that have been worse? Probably not. In fact, I don't even think that's what the story's about, but the spoiler is pivotal to the plot.]
As always, work on SM is slow-going, or at least it feels that way to me. I'm trying to write around a thousand words a day, and so far I've stuck pretty well to that. Trouble is, a thousand words doesn't get me very far, story-wise, hence the feelings of sloth.
I've crossed 2 important plot bridges now, and am about to get to a third, which is all very exciting. New ideas are falling into place every time I sit down to write. I really love this story and its telling, but the urge for it to just be done grows stronger every day!
Also, my ability to channel "shitty first draft" energy is shorting in and out. Help me, Anne Lamott, you're my only hope!
Short Excerpt (spoiler-free for CPs)
Time to move on.
And I would be moving along, in exactly...I checked my watch. One hour. One hour, and Georgia would be nothing but a faint, humid memory.
But I would miss Julie.
I'd been battling with feelings of selfishness ever since I decided to go after the fellowship. Julie had never asked for her lot in life, two siblings with mental illness and her own substance addiction. And when an angry, recalcitrant eight-year-old had been dropped in her lap, she'd never once complained or resented me or tried to pawn me off on any of my father's distant relatives.
Julie taught me about unconditional love, but here I was, leaving her in the dust first chance I got. Not much Christian charity, that, but I'd never been a good Christian.
She wanted me to go, or at least she said she did. More than anything, she said, she wanted me to get out of Clarkston and make something of myself. Not to turn out sick like my mother, or haunted like my uncle, or just plain motionless. Like her.
She'd never said so much, but I knew.
I finished my latte and left the coffee shop, found my gate and leaned against one of the picture windows. Atlanta was not a pretty city, inside or out, but I'd known beauty here.
Questions for YOU
1. How do you format your first draft? For instance, I keep mine single-spaced, 12-point Times New Roman font. My draft is currently 90 pages long at 46.5k words. I think it's more exciting to double-space in the end.
2. What would you say is your #1 character physical tic? Mine is nodding. Nodding and shoving hands in pockets. #headdesk