I think I’ve learned more writing this monster than any other single work of fiction. It’s a monster, a giant, a thing of limitless potential that I am continually daunted by. I can now almost see the full shape of it. Aspects of the third act are getting clearer, spaces that had ‘political shenanigans’ are getting faces and details, events that were imposed externally are now generated internally.

I recently printed out the full work for the first time (that’s the digital age for you). It took me a ream of paper. I then grouped each section with paper clips and then stacked sections into different piles depending on the work they did. That way I could feel the weight of each point of view, see each aspect on its on and touch it with my hands. It feels a little like an archaeological dig site, moving papers from space to space to see what else I’ve hidden in them. I am something of a kinesthetic writer and touching my words, shuffling them around into different physical piles helped me bust through a lethargy I had just after 80,000.

I went to bed after achieving my 90,000 words and for the first time found myself thinking about my next novel. Despite my efforts to keep my whirring brain on my current novel I found myself captivated by the new novel… it’ll be so much easier to do, the plot clear and crisp like fresh linen… and I’ve done all this learning now. I shan’t succumb to the temptation to abandon this story for another, even though part of me whispers that a break will give me perspective. I am far too aware that I am in a danger zone where it could all melt into a puddle of could have been. I shall harness my enthusiasm for a new tale into finishing this one.

Now I must get back to fondling my papers, the words demand it.