Hurray for me!
Allow me to congratulate myself. A few moments ago, I was awarded the privilege to display this icon on my blog:
After a couple of hours of mad typing, I uploaded my file at about 11:50, and their word counting robot told me that the crappy first draft of my novel Tiebroken now had 50,601 words. I believe that made only the third day (November 28, 29, and 30) that I had written as many words as I should have to be on pace. This flurry of writing has gotten me used to typing for both sides of a conversation, and so it is somewhat difficult to stop:
You: Congratulations, Eric, you must be so proud.
Me: Yes, I am, thank you.
You: So, what's it like? How do you feel now that you've been officially labeled as having written a novel?
Me: In the spirit of NaNoWriMo, I will speak in metaphors, poor ones. Well, maybe just one metaphor. Right now, I've just waved good-bye to the county building inspector after he signed off on my rough-in inspection. The frame's up; there's a roof that keeps water out; my dryer vent makes it outside; the pipes are laid; the wires are pulled and connected to the outlets although nothing connects the house to the main power grid. In short, it's vaguely house-like in form but no one could live in it.
You: What's next for you?
Me: Drywall, drywall, drywall. And I'd like to replace that blue tarp with a front door. And the concrete floor needs staining. And cabinets, folks, I need some cabinets.
You: When can I, er, attend your open house?
Me: Ah, yes, I held on long enough so that I can tell you to drop it, your metaphor is too extended.
You: My metaphor? You started it?
Me: Yes, but I didn't make you pick it up and run with it. You shoulder some of the blame in this, too, my friend.
You: Just tell me when I can read your damn novel, okay? I want to go to bed, and I still have an episode of Lost waiting for me on the DVR.
Me: Oh, what did you think of last week's episode? I think they may have made the error of writing themselves in to a corner and then just start adding new characters and hope we don't notice and the problem goes away.
Damon Lindelof: Hey, we've planned all this from the start!
Me: Sure you have.
You: Hey, this really isn't making me want to read Tiebroken.
Me: Oh, yeah. So my plan is to take a couple of days off and then go back and proofread, tie up the odd loose end, do some brief revising, and then serialize it by posting a chapter or two at a time. Watch this space, my friend. I'll alert you when the first installment is posted.
After a couple of hours of mad typing, I uploaded my file at about 11:50, and their word counting robot told me that the crappy first draft of my novel Tiebroken now had 50,601 words. I believe that made only the third day (November 28, 29, and 30) that I had written as many words as I should have to be on pace. This flurry of writing has gotten me used to typing for both sides of a conversation, and so it is somewhat difficult to stop:
You: Congratulations, Eric, you must be so proud.
Me: Yes, I am, thank you.
You: So, what's it like? How do you feel now that you've been officially labeled as having written a novel?
Me: In the spirit of NaNoWriMo, I will speak in metaphors, poor ones. Well, maybe just one metaphor. Right now, I've just waved good-bye to the county building inspector after he signed off on my rough-in inspection. The frame's up; there's a roof that keeps water out; my dryer vent makes it outside; the pipes are laid; the wires are pulled and connected to the outlets although nothing connects the house to the main power grid. In short, it's vaguely house-like in form but no one could live in it.
You: What's next for you?
Me: Drywall, drywall, drywall. And I'd like to replace that blue tarp with a front door. And the concrete floor needs staining. And cabinets, folks, I need some cabinets.
You: When can I, er, attend your open house?
Me: Ah, yes, I held on long enough so that I can tell you to drop it, your metaphor is too extended.
You: My metaphor? You started it?
Me: Yes, but I didn't make you pick it up and run with it. You shoulder some of the blame in this, too, my friend.
You: Just tell me when I can read your damn novel, okay? I want to go to bed, and I still have an episode of Lost waiting for me on the DVR.
Me: Oh, what did you think of last week's episode? I think they may have made the error of writing themselves in to a corner and then just start adding new characters and hope we don't notice and the problem goes away.
Damon Lindelof: Hey, we've planned all this from the start!
Me: Sure you have.
You: Hey, this really isn't making me want to read Tiebroken.
Me: Oh, yeah. So my plan is to take a couple of days off and then go back and proofread, tie up the odd loose end, do some brief revising, and then serialize it by posting a chapter or two at a time. Watch this space, my friend. I'll alert you when the first installment is posted.
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