I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Monday, December 14, 2009

Black-strap Molasses in January Slow

Well, I didn't get any words out this weekend. But, with a slow work day today (person I've been covering their work for during the past three months is back to work today), I pounded out Chapter 37 (about 1600 words).

Having missed the "middle of the novel and all my words are crap" stage, it's finally rearing its hoary head. It's all crap. There's no tension, everybody is happy happy, joy joy. And they all go along with each other.

Of course that could also be because they've learned to trust one another.

But no, it's all crap. It'll all have go in the rewrite.

Yeah, I hope to be over this pity party for one by the end of the next two chapters. If not, it's going to make for a real bitcher of a rewrite.

I'll post the actual numbers tonight as I get it into a formated file.

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