Wow. The universe is conspiring to see how serious I am about writing consistently. I burned my finger doing a craft today, and by seven o'clock, I still wasn't able to put the ice pack down long enough to type a Facebook update, let alone 1500 words of a novel. Since I thought I was out due to an injury, I agreed to watch some 90s comedy with hubs and his bros, and by the time the movie ended at 11, I realized that my finger didn't hurt anymore, which meant that the 1500 words must go on. I wanted to go to bed instead.
They're not great words, I can tell ya that. I've got a huge ol' freakin' list of all the things that suck about this entire scene. Heck, the entire story. But. But. I am trying really, really hard not to listen to that voice. That voice has kept me from writing for 15 years. Not that that voice is wrong. That voice has extremely good taste and is very insightful, but during creating time, it needs to be quiet. As much as I'm not loving the character voices, the action, or the monologue-nature of this scene, I am getting some good character discovery and background information, and I think that as clunky as this scene is, it needs to be allowed to unwind.
This novel is weird to me. I feel like I know the characters and the story and the plot so well, and in my head they're absolutely brilliant, but I'm having an incredibly hard time getting all of that onto paper. It's weirding me out a bit because usually when I know something, I can express it.
Another thing that's weird? Realizing that for the first time in my life, I'm honestly working as hard as I can toward the one thing I've really wanted since I was six. That feels really weird.
I wrote 1521 words tonight.