Somehow I want to say, "Kings-X", or whatever the magic words are to get everything to slow down for a moment and give me a chance to catch up.
Six weeks ought to do it.
I'm not complaining, mind you. Better time should fly than to inch along like a sick snail that has to stop every twenty seconds to throw up. But there's so much I want to do. So much I need to do. And the year is more than half over. What the heck?
There are those tomato plants I wanted to buy, the spring-cleaning I intended to do, those twenty pounds I meant to lose.
Okay, ten weeks. Thirteen weeks for sure.
I'm still not finished with my SFD, but I admit I'm not worried. (Did I just seal my doom?) If I can create the ending that's in my mind—make it work and satisfy at the same time—I'll be downright giddy. And still on target.
Then the fun work will start.
I'm already mulling over the introduction of a bigger, more global aspect. To make the story, um, bigger and more global. How that thread will feed into the existing plot is important. It has to weave in and look like it's always been an integral part of the deal. Like it came off the loom right along with everything else. If it doesn't, it'll just be a string that everyone will want to tug.
A bit of this and a bit of that, and before you know it, I'll be pulling out the Christmas decorations.
CR: Trying to drag out the Lamott book. If the Barclay doesn't get here tomorrow, it's gonna have to take a backseat.
It's all better with friends.
