On the bright side, I almost have a complete novel.

6647 words tonight. I’m too sick of sitting at the computer to look up whether that beats the giant marathon I did at the end of MNC. I’m closer to the end than I was then, though; all I still have to write is the epilogue.

And a half-finished scene I glossed over because I’m still not sure what bit of folklore to stick in there. I think we may cut that out for now, and put it back in if I find something appropriate. (Because I have a long-standing habit of insisting that I cannot declare a novel done until it has no holes in it. And I want to write the epilogue last.)

Anyway. Bedtime came and went hours ago. Time for me to do the same.

Three parts revised. Three days’ worth of London burned down. One hundred twenty thousand, three hundred and thirty-six words.

I’m nearly done.

Observations: I have lots of great epic battle music. “Holocaust” not only was a word back then, but originally meant a sacrificial offering that has been completely burnt, which is a fabulous thumbs-up to me using it here. I am spoiled by the internets, getting mad at them for not giving me a high-enough-resolution image of Hollar’s 1658 plan of St. Paul’s Cathedral for me to clearly read where Sir Christopher Hatton’s grave monument was. (What do you mean, I have to actually go to the library? And that I can’t do so at one a.m.?) I am, however, pleased all over again by history’s obliging tendency to drop perfect bits of story in my lap. St. Faith’s was right where narrative logic says it ought to be, and I didn’t have to go at all out of my way to smash Sir Francis Walsingham’s grave.

Destroying things is fun.

(Even if I’m running out of ways to describe stuff burning without just repeating myself over and over and over again.)

Revisions of Part One are done. At least in the broad, chainsaw, “this scene can just die already” sense.

Tomorrow? I start blowing shit up.

Jesus Christ on a pogo stick. Tonight’s work was supposed to be a particular scene, which would take at least my 1K quota to finish.

2,411 words later, the bloody thing is done at last.

I didn’t think I would reach 80K tonight, what with being over 2K away from it. Well, hello, you novel-thing you. We’re still a long way from the end, but 80K is traditionally minimum real novel length, so the number still looks a little magical to me. Crossing that line means we’re approaching the end. (Even if it’s still 50K away — which I hope it isn’t.)

Oh, and that’s with having skipped over one bit, because I’m not sure what to put in it. Dear Merlin: no, you cannot be in this book. Please go away.

Word count: 80,277
LBR quota: Blood. And how.
Authorial sadism: The funny thing is, Lune believes that was less mean than the alternative.

Part III is done. Which is something of a miracle, since it’s about 5K longer than my original estimation for the length of each of these sections.

Word count: 72010
LBR tally: Lately, rhetoric is winning.
Authorial sadism: I’ve slacked off on that for a few scenes, actually. They need some breathing room before the things I’ve got in store.

***

So here’s how me and deadlines work.

The book is officially due October first. I got started June first. At one thousand words a day — my standard pace — I can therefore write 122K by my deadline. I was aiming for a 110K book, so that gives me breathing room, as does the fact that I tend to accumulate overage; 1K/day is a minimum, not an average.

But I knew going in that this summer would involve more non-working days than usual, thanks to everything else in my life. So that margin of safety shrinks. Then I realize the book needs to be longer. How much longer? Don’t really know. I’d be surprised if it goes past 130K, but 120K is pretty much a given at this point. Suddenly, that margin of safety? Not so much with the existing.

Ten days before the end of July, I realize I’m about six days ahead of the base schedule. I decide to see if I can’t up that to ten by the end of the month — that is, to close out July with 71K instead of 61K. (Consequence: I work through Conestoga, tapping away on my laptop in my hotel room at night.) And then I decide on this trip to Dallas, and figure that we can do a bit better with that goal; I’ll finish Part III by the end of the month.

And so I have done. In the last three days, I’ve written over six thousand words. But this afternoon’s scene was only 402 words, so we’ll probably sit down and poke at the beginning of Part IV later tonight.

In a truly delusional world, I would try to do Part IV and then the bits covering the Fire by the end of this month. But that’s going to be another 40-50K words, and the middle of August will be shot all to hell, so I won’t lock myself into it.

(I won’t lock myself into it. But anybody who knows my working habits know that the minute I think of something like that, my subconscious decides I’m going to try for it anyway.)

This is how I do it. Not with carrots dangling in front of me, but a stick behind. I drive myself hard early on because that’s better, in my mind, then driving myself at the end; I’d rather push through and have breathing space than find myself in a crunch right before deadline. Who knows what else might crop up to delay me? Who knows how many additional words this book will need in order to be fully itself? If it caps out at 140K, I need to know I’ll have enough time for those extra words.

Yes, it is crazy-making. But now doesn’t seem like the time to fiddle with my habits. So Part III is done, and we’ll write more tonight — just to be safe.

2896. Because I am very bad at stopping in the middle of the ‘splody. And then another 39 more, because I’m also bad at stopping 37 words short of my next benchmark.

Well, I wanted to hit 60K before Conestoga. I just didn’t mean to do it tonight.

Wordcount: 60002
LBR quota: Blood. It goes well with ‘splody.
Authorial sadism: Well, I had to come up with a reason they couldn’t just solve all their problems that way.

Favorite bits: Yay for crispy moths, conveniently timed changes in the lieutenancy in the Tower of London, curious horses, cameo appearances by Scottish fae, and knowing that particular peep has your back.

1410 tonight. It’s hard to stop at quota when you’re about to blow up one of the conventions of faerie fantasy.

Whee!

Word count: 53,379
LBR tally: Rhetoric, finishing off yesterday’s scene, followed by impending blood.
Authorial sadism: Finding your blind spot. Then realizing how long it’s been there.

Today I got started working before five, and knocked out about 1400; then, against my better judgment (I know that slow and steady wins the race), I came back for a second sitting. 2,458 today — and all before midnight! The first overrun was excusable; I mean, I was three paragraphs away from Jack finally making his entrance. I’ve been looking forward to him all book. But did I really need to write the rest of that scene today? No. (Not to mention it’s a stupidly long scene. Though heck if I know how I can trim it. The tree may have to go away. <sad face>)

I am, however, being vindicated in my decision not to work on revising the earlier parts yet. As I suspected, I am getting to know Antony much better in this part, which will benefit me in the revision. Apparently he’s one of those guys who accomplishes more the less you give him to work with. Who knew?

Word count: 50521. That landmark is the other reason for the overrun.
LBR tally: 2,458 words of nearly pure rhetoric.
Authorial sadism: You know what happens when you give somebody a young son in Part I? They’re all growed up by Part III, is what.

It isn’t even 8 p.m., and I’ve already done my writing for the day. Because I just felt like doing it, instead of reading or whatever.

That’s a nice feeling, and not one I’ve had much of lately.

(Mind you, the desire was born of pure sadism. Last night I started an Antony scene that I’ve been dying to write, because it’s just so mean.)

Word count: 48090
LBR tally: Blood, of the metaphysical kind.
Authorial sadism: I’ve had enough time to think through the consequences of some of the things I’ve established in this and the previous book. Much to Antony’s detriment.

Sweet gibbering monkeys, I thought Part Two would never end. 2549 tonight, and I’ve been batting well over a thousand for a week now in an attempt to put paid to this thing before I go to Minneapolis.

Antony’s way over on word-count. It’s his fault Part Two is over quota. But that’s a problem to fix in revision — somehow.

It came so very very close to “rocks fall, everyone dies” tonight. Or at least one character dying. But dropping the ceiling on him would have raised the question of why all the problems couldn’t be taken care of that way, so I had to use another method.

Two dead people in the first part; three in this one. (And one in the Prologue.) Will the number keep going up?

Word count: 45767
LBR tally: Blood. Blood, blood, and more blood.
Authorial sadism: This is one of those “all of it” moments.