Dreaming of Manifest Destiny

Listening to Mike Doughty makes me want spring time something fierce.

I'm 34 days from heading out to Los Angeles again. The need for it is starting to grow in me something fierce.

One thing that I've been trying to do (and thus far failing miserably at) is to write every day, to maybe have my novel done by spring break. 34 days means I have to write about 900 words a day to hit the rough word count that I was aiming for. It's one of those tasks that make it all seem so doable, yet I keep putting it off.

I've got a rough direction, and while I've got a couple stumbly scenes to figure out between now and the end, I've got a pretty solid direction.

It's sort of scary. The idea that I am really now teetering at the end. That all the pieces are set. That all the players are moving towards the big show down, the big shoot out, and after that the denouement or requiem or whatever you want to call it.

I've also got to rip out something to send Duke's way for our monthly writing challenge that we've set for ourselves.

I'm already slacking my way through the semester. This is both not surprising and endlessly frustrating.

Ok so, I put a break where I was at, and picked up where I wanted to. I can always go back in and fill in the blanks. Anything to get this story done.

And back to the writing I go.