Pacing myself

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A coaster in progress.

The writing continues in a prosy vein; I'm getting a chapter a day under my belt, which is MARVELOUS! And yet.... Lol. How can one grouse or even second-guess an average of three thousand words each morning? It's certainly not the word count that brings me to this post. It's my own impatience to know how this novel is going to end. Present Me is chomping at the bit, aching for some hint. Future Me chortles, then breaks into furious laughter. CHILL OUT, she says, while Past Me wishes to flick Present Me upside the head. How long, she growls, have you wanted to write so unencumbered, and here you are doing so and still you're griping?

Okay, yeah. I'm a little whingy. But just a little and only because I am attached to these people and want to know WHAT HAPPENS TO THEM! I have some ideas of course, but my initial notions about this story have evaporated, which occurs sometimes during the writing. And that's fine, I don't begrudge these characters to forge their own paths. I feel privileged to tell their stories, and I'd be a whole lot more thrilled if I knew the outcomes. Such is the occasional manner of storytelling. It's literally one chapter at a time.

Kind of how I'm making mug rugs in regards to the quilting. I wanted to hand-quilt them, so I stitched a couple, then this afternoon added a binding strip and tossed one in the laundry. The results were GREAT! Maybe for my next post I'll have a photo of one finished; instead the above picture is from this evening's work, and I'm hoping there's enough of the fabric I used for the binding to wrap it around this coaster. I suppose I could move from the sofa, retrieving the completed coaster, then take a picture of it and.... But right now I'm seated by the cozy fire on a chilly evening and I don't wish to leave this warm location. We had some snow today, very rare in our neck of Humboldt County, but it was pretty and it's nearly March and soon enough winter will be a distant memory. Kind of how writing my WIP will one day be....

Ahem. I need to cool my anticipatory jets when it comes to wanting to know this novel's conclusion; I will reach it when I arrive there. Future Me will be waiting, although she will immediately turn into Present Me, but will I have learned any patience? Past Me taps her foot in incredulity, while Future Me shrugs, probably because she eyes my current restlessness with the sense of YOU WILL GET THERE AT THE APPROPRIATE TIME AND THIS GLORIOUS OPPORTUNITY WILL BE OVER! Okay, okay, I get it. I need to enjoy this moment for exactly what it is, the immense joy of writing for the sheer love of it. And I am, I really am. Or maybe I'm not, sigh. If I was, this post would be about something else entirely. But I really like these folks and I can't wait to go to sleep tonight, then tomorrow open the manuscript and tell more of this tale. And yeah, in X number of days the writing of this draft will be DONE, and I will never be in this position again of typing anew at each sitting this plot notion or that scrap of sparkling dialogue or this other intriguing twist. Just cool the jets, Future Me huffs, then slyly she smiles. It's gonna get really good now that the halfway mark is around the corner....

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