10.6K down, 39.4K to go

My muses, SodaPop and Ginger Ale, under the table by my computer.


90,000 mad-dog novelists have finally succeeded in crashing the NaNoWriMo site. Frankly, I'm a little disappointed it took three days for us to do it. We obviously weren't trying hard enough.

Since I can't post my word count there tonight, I will post it here. 10,693. That's about 4,000 words ahead of schedule. Don't worry, I'm already having shades of a nervous breakdown and we haven't even hit one week. I'll be crossing the finish line writing my closing lines on a mirror using lipstick at the local prison, I guarantee it.

Come to think of it, I had better buy some lipstick.

I'm not kidding. This shit is messing with my head. I woke today at 8, got up, fed the dogs, ate breakfast, walked the dogs, walked into my office, walked out of my office and into my bedroom, and got back into bed.

It wasn't all sleep--there was a lot of pep-talking going on. It just wasn't helping. (And no, it wasn't from the dogs.) I spent hours Friday night reliving a couple of very bad days--I mean creating fresh fiction from off the top of my head--and it was only normal to expect I might have a small hangover the next day.

At lunchtime I got up to walk the dogs again. Then I came back in and sat on the edge of my bed. Both dogs immediately jumped up and curled up for another nap. That's what got me up--the fact that even my dogs had lost complete faith in my ability to keep going. Soda's gaze was especially hard to bear as she was a main character--I mean, basis for a completely fictional character--last night, and she seemed to be faring just fine, thank you.

Now I was up, but I still couldn't go into my office. I needed another option. I threw on some riding clothes and drove to Sun Prairie. Research, I told myself. There will definitely be horses in this book at some point. So Julian and I took another healthy gallop around the empty corn fields. Julian must have been battling some demons himself, because he ran hell bent for leather a few times. During one sprint I had to just ride him out until he was too tired to keep going. I tested the reins mid-way, thinking he was overdoing it, and there was nobody home. Julian channeling John Henry, another old sprinter.

I don't know why, but the more he runs like that, the more I want to get on a thoroughbred. We always want more, don't we? I love my Percheron racehorse. And this time, I made sure to give him something to help with sore muscles before I left. We'll see who's limping worse tomorrow.