The book is writing me.

Instead of me dragging the book to the ending, the book is dragging me to the ending.

Faerie Punk demands to be finished!

I've become so accustomed to writing everyday that sometimes even when I'm not feeling it, sometimes even when I'm intending to take time off, I end up writing. For the last few days, instead of me feeling like I don't have anything in the tank (which is what my brain is telling me) I end up writing something anyway. Not only that, but I have sloppy seconds still there for the next day.

Does that make any sense?

It's much like my walking. I now feel really deprived if I don't go for my five mile walk. And my five mile walk almost always--I probably should say always--results in ideas and in writing.

Instead of me dragging a book out of my subconscious, my subconscious is dragging me to writing the book.

I'm going to be finished with the first draft in the next couple of days. I've dropped the shorter version--let's be honest, I was always going to go with the longer version-- even if it stays one book instead of three. It got a little confusing distinguishing between the two versions, and I spent a couple hours yesterday realizing I was missing a chapter in one, and had double chapters in the other.

Unnecessary complications.

I'm guessing it will be close to 138K. I've got three of four other chapters I intend to write, so it might be over 145K by the time I'm done.

I'll send that off to Lara, with the intent of giving it one last rewrite to make it even a little bigger just by fleshing it out.

I have no idea if this book works, but I enjoyed writing it.