Report: The 1st draft of my historical YA is moving along. Quickly.
Okay, not that quickly. Individual scenes are not zooming along, not flying from my fingers in a state of loveliness. Hardly. Let’s say I’m seriously channeling Anne Lamott these days.
It does feel like I could, if I wanted, count out the number of scenes I have left till the end. I’m not going to, because it’ll be more than I think, and then I’ll just get discouraged.
Maybe it’s because I spent a couple of weeks working on a synopsis. Maybe it’s because I took a couple more weeks off to revise my picture book. Maybe it’s because I have too many what-ifs and buts churning in my head about the first 3/4 of this draft, and I just want to get to them and start working it all out.
Whatever the cause, I’m letting myself hurry. I’m spending less time plotting a scene than I normally would, even in this exploratory draft I’m doing. I’m letting myself leave BIG holes between scenes and inside them. If I looked closely, I’m pretty sure that I’d see I’m writing melodrama, rather than drama.
I’m pretty sure this is okay. I’m getting it down. I’m heading toward the ending that’s been in my brain for a good part of a year now, and I’m trying to stay open to putting that ending down in a completely different way than I’ve visualized. Or maybe in the exact way I’ve visualized. I don’t know. I just know it all has to be written, and I’m getting impatient with the thinking. Maybe Caro’s getting impatient. Maybe the Get Going! I’m hearing is from her, and she–as much as me–wants to start working out the mess puzzle that we’ve created so far.
I’m listening. All you pantsers out there, hear me and be proud, I’m joining your crowd. At least temporarily. And I’m being thankful that nobody has to read this yet.
Except my critique group.
I should probably send piles of chocolate along with these last chapters.
And keep writing.