… I can generally spell, but numbers are not my friends – I find them sneaky and dishonest and unreliable. I don’t care if the Fibonacci Numbers have a cool name. I am, for all intents and purposes, innumerate.
However, I’ve been pulling the various bits of the novel together – in manner of Frankenstein’s monster – since I drew up the plan last week. I’ve been rearranging what I’ve written and putting it into integrated chapters as well as writing new bits. My inner critic (whose name is Estelle) has been shut up by the simple expedient of putting her in a corner of my brain with a bottle of Jameson whisky and the biggest imaginary box of Lindt choclits in the world – with her thus distracted I am moving forward in a productive manner. Wonderful things, those imaginary boxes of choclit for distracting inner critics.
I’m not finished yet, obviously, but I just did a rough count with the help of Excel (I need help – I am the Ralph Wiggam of numbers – and the Zokutu Word Metre seems to have disappeared from the Universe) and it appears that I’ve gathered 46125 words in one place. There’s another stray 30000 lying around somewhere else … some of them are even in order. So, that’s almost 80000 … that’s almost a whole novel. That’s almost the first draft.
Oh, my. Where’s my fainting couch? The end of June deadline for the first draft may just be workable – hideous tragedy notwithstanding. On this, my forty-twoth birthday weekend, on this most portentous and significant in a Douglas Adams nerd-cred kind of way weekend, what might I achieve? Apart from eating a lot of cake? Probably just eating a lot of cake … maybe I can get some of those imaginary choclits from Estelle.
Yes, this post comes under the heading of ‘random thought’.
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