First draft of the story is, as of 10:26 pm tonight, officially written up to and including the Climax!
Moon walk. Slam the football down in the end zone. Yeah, baby. Yeah, baby.
I have been thinking and planning this part of the story -- I almost am willing to call it a book, now -- since before I wrote the first words of the beginning.
It has morphed, changed locations, and changed characters, but always with the same outcome.
At one point, this evening, I was running around outside with the stopwatch on my phone, timing how many seconds it would take to get from point A, to point B, and then to point C. The raccoons, I'm confident, are convinced that the human living here is quite nuts.
That total time, you see, had to mesh with what was happening in the shack, with this person going to this corner, and that person going to that spot, and the like.
After I clicked the keys for the last word on the document, I called my husband, who is on a business trip and who got up early this morning and has been driving to meeting after meeting after meeting all day.
I read the length of the last scene. I put all the drama into every shout and whisper. I performed brilliantly.
And he fell asleep before I finished.
He assured me when I woke him up that it wasn't because of the quality of the prose. The climax was good for him, too. (tee-hee)
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