This was the week I dug in and really went for it. I wrote 13, 428 words in four days. I’m exhausted, and I think it took a while to get the feeling back in my butt (HaHa!), but I passed the 40k mark which was my goal for this whole thing! Hurray! Woot! Woot!
Current word count:
41,661. This week I’m going to try to break the 50k mark which would make me very happy!
WIP issues this week:
For some reason that little bugger called self-doubt was prominent this week. I had some issues with my last MS, and I think I was afraid those same issues would come into play with this manuscript. But after wallowing for an hour or so, I gave that nagging voice the finger and pushed on.
What I learned this week in writing:
I CAN do the whole write straight through without editing process everyone has been urging me to try. As a total “Type A” personality this has been difficult for me. But I have found that if I can get my thoughts on the page quickly, I feel much better. I’m sure there’s A TON of edits and revisions in my future, but that’s okay.
And just to continue the fun in regards to research…This week I learned about the construction of the World War I airplane.
Here’s a fun piece of trivia: Did you know that the paint they put over the tops of the wings on early twentieth century aircraft was called, DOPE?! I had to ask the man at the museum to say it a couple of times, and spell it, before I really believed him!
What distracted me this week while writing:
Pondering whether or not I wanted to do Pitch Madness. I toyed with the idea of entering my other manuscript, but decided against it because I really want to focus on this WIP. I will be cheering on all my buddies this week, and hoping they get LOTS OF REQUESTS!
Last 200 words:
The sun is completely overhead once I reach the edge of the farm. The wheat stocks, cut back to the ground, look like decapitated trees. Each small, bare neck jutting up from the red soil.
A sharp grind of the windmill greets me as I walk up the dirt road toward the small clapboard house I used to call home. Thick cotton-like clouds roll across the sky. It’s the perfect day to be in the air.
My body aches for the pull of the wind. The smell of exhaust the engine churns, but as I walk to face my future, it seems unlikely I’ll ever be in a plane again. This moment can only end in one of two ways: his death or mine.
The screen door creeks as I walk inside. The smell of liquor and rotting meat knocks me back. I take two steps toward the kitchen when a rat races over the tip of my shoe. A scream escapes my lips and I slam into the counter, knocking a dirty frying pan to the ground.
Pa bolts up from the couch. The barrel of his rifle points at my chest. “What’re you doing here?”
See other WIPMarathon updates here!