In C, I’ve been ripping words out as quickly as I’ve been putting them in — or almost as quickly. I still show a net gain for yesterday, though I would guess that my actual writing for the day surpassed 5000 words, rather than the 2000-ish that show on the WIP bar.
Today will be more of the same. Rewriting an existing scene to incorporate the necessary foreshadowing of the villain I’ve met, to rework an issue of secrecy that I addressed badly the first time — and then on to new words and scenes.
I’m so excited about what I’m getting that the temptation to show off a bit of it is extreme. But at the same time, I can’t bear to part with the fact that at the moment C is mine alone — all mine, without any commentary into or opinions of it, whether spoken or unspoken, but mine. For the moment, no one else in the world has seen it, knows what it’s about or what it contains, and so I have no expectations but my own to fulfill.
That’s such a glorious, hugely liberating feeling that I think I’ll hang onto it for a while longer.
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