OK, ok. I realize that it has been ALMOST TWO WEEKS since I last wrote. I get that. I am bad bad bad. Naughty Zjazja, that's me! And still, and yet, I am only at 33,500! I coulda sworn once I finished (and I think I am the one that's finished) writing this week's installment, I'd be at 35large. But no. Not quite to THAT milestone!!!
And I was writing sex and conflict and secrets and things that are meant to be All Good in a novel. If they are so blasted All Good, than why the heck are they sooooo difficult to craft? (And I do mean CRAFT). With chisel and hammer and dust and sweat. It is so Miller time (or in my case, Celestial Season's finest Peppermint Tea time. And I am still not fully satisfied with the chapter. I am still wanting to pull that puppy up and go through it again. I need to add more finesse, more tension, more sinew, and perhaps less cool tightening gasp gaze hand slide glide hips cushion glass.
Dean Koontz, mr i-don't-move-on-to-the-next-page-until-this-one-is-perfect, I am not. But, still, it tingles at me, that chapter. It is not finished and yet I hit send and off the scenes went to the R8, and I am left wanting to call them back, snap them back like a yoyo, whip them back cos they just aren't ready yet!
But I committed. I said I was submitting. Final polish or no, I had to. I had no choice. If I plan to move forward, if I plan to have plans, then I had to follow through with my commitment.
This weekend, as I read Agnes and the Hitman (Crusie/Mayer) and wrote and tidied and cooked (whoever can read Agnes without cooking breakfast is either much stronger then I or has no imagination and the book is probably lost on them anyway), I thought, seriously, ZZ, what are your goals? What do I want to acheive? Why are you spending this time writing? What do I want? I want to write. I want to finish this ms. I want to buy a house. I want kids. Can one lead to the other? Can I write and have that pay for a house? Afford kids?
Maybe even a dog?
Maybe. Perhaps. If I finish it and revise it and revise it again and maybe tweak it one more time. and then LAAAHHHH!! if the heavens open and the editing hoardes pour forth, grant me the good blessing to read it and then bestow upon me the most sought after words in all publishing history: I'll buy it. Then, after much shock and hoopla and more than a little champagne, what is left of my advance might buy me some new shoes and a month's health insurance. Maybe even a few month's rent if the magic truly is released.
But can I do it four times in one year? Every year. Even if smoke emerges from my laptop and the writing gets really really difficult and I can't come up with another word for slick thick stroke look anger languid heat?
Can I? or even, Will I?