That Tuesday count again

[desperance]

For those of you who haven't been following, davidbarnett and I found ourselves at the start of this month more or less the same distance into our respective books, with more or less the same deadline (end of this month) and absolutely the same agent to deliver 'em to; so we declared a race. Other people are joining in, and welcome all.

Tuesday at noon is declaration-time, how far we've got this last week. So:

80,190 / 90,000 (89.1%)

Or, in pages (my preferred measure):

248 / 300 (82.7%)

Which means I've written 48 pages in the last week, or 14,580 words. Which are no bad numbers, so it's a little odd to find myself dissatisfied. It's not unusual, I am your classic malcontent with self-contempt as my baseline default position, but I do think it's odd, and therefore interesting.

Partly, of course, I just think I could have written more: hell, I wrote eleven pages on Saturday, so why only two on Sunday? Etc. It's the curse of the freelance, to treat a peak as a target.

Also, I'm anxious that the book is going too talky on me, that too many of these words are redundant. That can be sorted out later (one thing that's clear, it's going to overrun its original targets; I've already bumped it from eighty to ninety thousand, and it's not going to stop there. This is an elastic kind of race, they keep shifting my finishing-line way beyond David's), but it's an anxiety now.

Also, I've had a fairly clear week to do this work in, apart from one evening out and a dose of ill health; that doesn't apply hereafter. The week ahead is going to be a nightmare, work-wise, I have other things scheduled for every day, and it's making me uneasy already. The late stages of a book are a time for focus and intensity; I want to go into purdah, and I can't.

So, all of the above. A good week's work, I just wish it had been better, because next week I'm going to slip behind. In the race, and in reality: they are the same. S'funny how much the racing really does help, though. Any incentive will do, and writing is after all a competitive sport (strange to learn that, after so many years of saying the other thing). Even this morning, I have errands to pursue but I've stayed stubbornly here until now, just to get one more page in before the deadline.

But now it's nearly noon, and I shall save my nearly-finished next page for next week's count, which will need it more. And go into town and buy cat-toys and drugs and whatever the other thing was if I can remember it; and then hope to get some more work done this afternoon, before I have to go and see Hank Wangford. Wheezingly.

Comments

[davidbarnett.livejournal.com]

81,012 / 100,000 (81.0%)

Fewer words than Chaz this week, with a total of 11,733 since the last tot-up, but brings me just a tiny shade ahead. I'm quite pleased with this week's tottage; by Friday I was malingering at about 5,000 words but had a burst of creativity Sunday and Monday nights.

I, too, am wondering if what I've written is as good as it could be, though, and I'm also suffering from a bit of talkiness. I've now shifted the bulk of the action to Hell - yer actual Hell - and I've got two people sitting around talking. Still; just thrown a succubus into the proceedings to liven things up a little. Which seems to be my default position: when things get boring, have sex/a death/an explosion.

Not sure where this novel is going to finish, word-wise. Just building up to the big finale now, with several sub-plots to be resolved. Might actually go the distance to 100K, I think. If I can maintain my wordage I could conceivably finish by Hallowe'en, which would be fitting. But, like Chaz, I've got a hellish work-week looming from Friday afternoon onwards, which might mean a Herculean effort is needed on the final furlong.

Still, should make things interesting for John Jarrold in about a fortnight's time, between us...

[desperance.livejournal.com]

I have a Prince of Hell (oh, and a don't-wannabe), but I thought I'd put off the problem of Hell itself until the next volume. If we get that far, if anybody actually buys this. M'friend Sean O'Brien has just published his translation of Dante's Inferno (http://www.blinking-eye.co.uk/writer/obrien.html), and I thought one at a time seemed fair.

Damn. Why didn't I think of succubi? Right now I'm thinking harpies, but that may be a mistake. You say harpies and everyone thinks Harryhausen, and Phineas. I'm more interested in other interpretations; in - oh, look! - Dante's Inferno (http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dantes-Inferno-Translation-Sean-OBrien/dp/0330441108), they torment the suicides, which is much more my area of interest. Keeping an old man from his lunch just doesn't do it for me...

[davidbarnett.livejournal.com]

I have a Prince of Hell (oh, and a don't-wannabe)

Erm, are we writing the same book..?

[desperance.livejournal.com]

I have been wondering. But surely John would've told us? He knows what I'm doing, at least, he's read half of it...

[davidbarnett.livejournal.com]

I'm not sure John's fully aware of all aspects of mine (Hell, I'm not until I write it, half the time). It would be rather a stunning co-incidence if these books were strikingly similar.

[wishus.livejournal.com]

A friend once made me a tape with a Hank Wangford track on the end of it... Never Wear Mascara. A bit of an odd way to end a tape full of the Bolshoi and Love and Rockets, and other stuff that sounds a bit like Bauhaus, but I think it was because they were signed to the same label... on a drizzly day, even now, that song plays itself in my head... (I take it you mean the same Hank Wangford!)

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Yup, that's the Hank. 'Never Wear Mascara When You Love A Married Man', it's a classic. Along with 'If You Ain't Married Sunny-Side-Up, Try Divorce Over Easy'. It's gonna be a fabulous evening. Even if we do have to get to the middle of absolutely nowhere...

[samarcand.livejournal.com]

Enormous congratulations to the both of you. Again.

And, hey, talkiness is good. It's necessary a lot of the time. Without talkiness we just have plot. And only plot is pretty dull.

And succubi are ALWAYS good.

Anyway, must go and add to my meager (in comparison) weekly wordcount. (Which I just misspelled in a vile but, in a way, apt manner. Put it this way, the 'c' and 'o' of count were transposed...)

[tavishsdoll.livejournal.com]

Great going for both of you. I'm limping along behind with my meager 3962 words. My list of excuses is as endless and boring as ever, a visit to purdah sounds just the thing, but it is so not possible when reality intrudes. Sadly, I would have easily managed over the 60000 hurdle, except that one of my characters got carried away with his backstory, and I had to get the sharp knives out!

So it really is just a two horse race, as I'm still going round the fences and haven't even got a bead on the finish line yet. At least you'll both be giving John something to read, even if I wont.

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Ah, see, I always leave the sharp-knife stuff till after I've got to the end, to avoid precisely this woefulness. The first draft is all about wordcount; get it all down now, and cut out the superfluous later. Sometimes I'm in mid-scene and I already know it's got to go, but I will keep writing. And count it. Look, the wordcount is a measure of quantity, not quality; if you wrote it, it counts.

And then, second draft - which is basically cutting-for-art - you get the double benefit of losing great chunks at once, and watching that count come down. Draft 1, it goes up; draft 2, it comes down. Both of these are good.

[tavishsdoll.livejournal.com]

Good advice, leaving the knives in the drawer. I promise myself all the time that I'm going to do this, then my fingers get itchy and I have to give in to the craving. But I am getting better at not giving in, and just making myself dive into the new stuff.

Also if its just quantity, then I should have finished some months ago! Plus there's that 7000 words that needs to be whipped into shape somewhere between chapter 4 and 6 that I went back and wrote this week and haven't counted yet (another character who refuses to decide what he wants to be!) So I've left him to mull himself over in the back of my head until he comes up with his reason d'etre.

[matociquala.livejournal.com]

*cheers from the cheap seats*

I like races where everybody wins.

And yes, I totally do the same thing. A peak is not a goal, a peak is not a goal.

And find my word counts are helpful in reminding myself that I *have* accomplished something.

[desperance.livejournal.com]

"I like races where everybody wins."

'Zackly. We like to think that Literature is the winner here.

A friend and I once invented a whole new variant of chess, where the rules changed as you played; we ended up with a lesbian marriage between the two queens, which definitely counts as a score draw.

And then there was the other variant I came up with, called Ssech, where you start from a checkmate position and play backwards, putting pieces back on the board, until both sides are in their starting positions again. That's Really Hard, and has to be played cooperatively...

[devonellington.livejournal.com]

You sound better today, I'm glad. Great work on the pages -- but I know what you mean, there are times when it doesn't feel like enough, does it?

Artie has a plug up for Shelter on his blog:
http://costumeimp.blogspot.com

[costumeimp.livejournal.com]

Bast and Little Roo made me do it, the post that is. They were both sitting on the couch, whining about the injustice poor sweet Barry was having to endure. "No laser pointer?! That poor kitty hasn't experienced LIFE yet, Daddy... You Have to DO something."

I was contemplating a plug on the blog as a personalized get well wish to Chaz. Once again, I've been corrected; by two overwhelming and insistant 4 legged creatures. They seem satisfied with my attempt; at least they haven't climbed the blinds yet today... ;-)

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Thank you for this, Artie. Poor sweet Barry (hah! you wouldn't say that if you'd had his fangs clamped around your wrist while his back claws seek for the intestines in your forearm) is also pathetically grateful - tho' he still doesn't have a laser pointer. I tried, but couldn't find one in town this morning. Useless, I am, utterly useless to him...

[autopope.livejournal.com]

Heh.

I'm at 101,750 words, in the epilogue/wrap-up, and expecting it to finish tonight or tomorrow, at least the first draft. So as long as I don't simply give up, I reckon I've got it in the bag. Good thing I'm not competing, right?

[davidbarnett.livejournal.com]

You're the Paula Radcliffe to my man-in-a-chicken-suit.

Still, you might yet stop for a poo and allow us to take over...