I have given up any pretense that I’m just jotting down enough notes to remember the new book when I’m ready to come back to it and will soon return to revising the old one. This book is a freight train running at full speed, and it will flatten me if I do not keep up. People in Novel in 90 saw me completely lose my shit at 3 a.m., when the rush of scenes had driven me out of bed for the third time.
I’m accustomed to having to coax every word out from its hiding place. Usually, the Novel in 90 goal of 750 words a day is a slight stretch. This week, I’ve hit 1200/day without pausing to think up the next scene. I wrote something like 3500 words yesterday, and could have kept going had I not needed to catch a few hours’ sleep so I could come to work today.
It’s the first book in a projected series, so I have a few scenes sketched in for the later volumes. Last night it seemed that the entire series was right there on the tip of my brain, ready to unfold before me if I could just keep up. We’ll see if that sensation returns… right now I’m too exhausted to think.
This is both euphoric and deeply unsettling.
Who says that writing isn’t a state of mind? Throw on a saddle, take a firm grip on the reins, and ride that tornado.