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04 August 2009 @ 04:13 pm
Kick me!  
So, possibly writing 30,000 words plus a synopsis in two weeks' time was a tad ambitious. I mean, I've done it before, when the 30K was part of a book.

I'm at the point right now where I want to bang my head against the nearest brick wall, and ask myself WTH I'm doing, and why, exactly, I thought this was such a great idea. Part of me wants to give up. But another part of me is all "Nooooooooooo! There is still time! You have until Monday, Rhien, just keep writing." (I'm not sure until when on Monday, mind, as the site just says "Monday, August 10th" - does that mean midnight on August 10th? 9pm? EST, or PST? Enquiring minds lunatic authors who are going to be writing until very possibly the last minute want to know!)

Right now, this very second, I have to write 3K words a day tomorrow-Sunday. Not including revising and the synopsis, which would be whatever time I have leftover, and Monday. Now, the actual writing part, that's doable on that schedule. But it sure doesn't leave me much for that two page synopsis, and we all know how much I loathe love synopsis writing. It also doesn't leave my betas any real read-and-response time. So the real truth is, I need to finish this thing faster. I'm working on it tonight as late as I can, and we'll see where I stand tomorrow.

I need some encouraging words swift kicks to keep me moving here.

I can do this.

Oh, yeah - did I mention that I leave Friday for a weekend on the coast with my nephews and literally a house full of people - fourteen to be exact?? I have to carve out writing time each day. Minimum four hours. No problem.

Where's that brick wall again?


(Note: italics indicate telepathic dialogue between two characters (brothers), not the thoughts of one. To avoid confusion. :D Also, the two brothers are discussing a couple of women, one in particular.)

I never thought I would see it.

The doors opened, and Dem picked up his pace to a jog once again, making his way down the corridor to the scene he’d left only an hour ago. He sighed, wishing Treon would just go away.

See what?

Leanne was gone, thank God, and Marcus’s body had been removed, but maintenance was still cleaning the blood off the floor and walls. They moved out of the way when they saw him coming.

“I need the lift,” he said aloud, stepping past the two men, and using his telekinesis to keep his footfalls from touching the blood. The soles of his shoes hovered about an inch above the floor.

You, losing objectivity.

I haven’t.


He paused as he got inside, noting that while the controls were clean, there was still blood spray nearly everywhere else. He caught the gaze of the nearest maintenance worker.

“This needs to be done within fifteen minutes. Finished. Not a drop of blood left, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

He saw the men exchange a glance as the doors slid shut, and didn’t care if the time frame seemed impossible.

Forgive me, Dem. Treon’s voice was amused. Clearly, you are a titanium pillar, immovable in your detachment.

They don’t need to see blood on the walls, Treon. Surely, you can agree to that.


Indeed. His brother’s laughter rang in his mind. But why, dear brother, could they not simply take the emergency ladders?
 
 
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Patron Saint of Pessimism: Kick In The Asswoodrunner on August 5th, 2009 12:43 am (UTC)

(See icon)

One kick, coming up!
(Anonymous) on August 5th, 2009 04:25 pm (UTC)
From Paula:
Don't let me down Rhein. How can you be my writing superhero if you give up?