Last Check-in Wordcount + ChapterCount (+ scene count if you’re revising):
112K. 59 chapters. 3rd draft was at ch. 25, 4th draft at ch. 10.
Current WC + CC (or SC):
120K. 61 Chapters. 3rd draft I’m rewriting chapter 30, 4th draft chapter 15.
WIP Issues this month:
Major continuity revisions. I added a whole bunch of stuff, and it was just completely throwing off the pacing. I finally figured out that if I rearranged some of the scenes (and deleted a large section of one), things started working again. I lost a lot of time to rewrites because of everything though.
What I learned this month in writing:
That I can’t keep up a pace of 4 chapters revised per week. Not with a new critique partner and a blog post (on my other blog) each Wednesday. I appear to have done an average of 2/week since I started tracking, so I’ll keep that pace as a goal and count anything on top of that as bonus.
What distracted me this month while writing:
Lots of stuff. Mostly the kids’ schoolwork, and the baby getting some teeth, but the really fun one was being a zombie on a movie set. I volunteered to do some stunts that landed me in the snow though, and caught a chill again. I need to remember to bring a spare outfit when I work as an extra.
Oh yes, and we mustn’t forget the completely new story concepts that have jumped into my head this month. There was a steampocalypse idea, and a short story, and I figured out the ending for book 3 of the Quetzalcoatl storyline that interweaves with the Pegasus Wars, and also I figured out how I want to rewrite Noise, the short story I wrote in February. All of these required me to do some writing on them before they’d get out of my head and leave me be.
Last 200 words:
Did he know it was me in Sandstorm? Rosa wondered for the hundredth time. Or was he as surprised as everyone else to find out I was the pilot?
Rosa shut the book with a sigh. There was no evidence that Caleb Dobbs was even remotely interested in her. He hadn’t contacted her, or left her his number, or anything. And why should he? He was fourteen years older than she was, and two grades higher in rank besides.
He could have any woman he wanted, Rosa reminded herself. Like Stephanie Carlisle–just as rich, twice as famous, and much better endowed.
General Dobbs approved of her. That in itself seemed to be miraculous. Rosa’s grandfather would resist the match, of course, but he couldn’t stop her. And he might find the political ties useful in the long run.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
“I know!” she shouted at no-one, starting to pace.
She needed to get out, go for a walk, do something. But what? She’d been ordered not to help Forsberg. Lieutenant Fielding wouldn’t get off shift for hours, and even she didn’t spend every night on the town.
“Lunch. I’ll go eat lunch.” She would go to the officer’s mess–that would at least get her out of the apartment. And then … she’d figure out something.