I’ve decided to force things a touch by embarrassing myself publicly.
Today I wrote for two hours. I have just over 750 words. sigh.
In some ways that’s not fair to myself. I added almost a thousand words to the background. and I typed about 1100 words in the book, but deleted a bunch. Not really finishing while writing, but my opening sucked so hard I couldn’t get past it.
though that said, I’ll share the first sentence or two just for your amusement as the /intent/ is still guiding this book.
“I remember the first time I set my finger on fire. It was shortly before we learned the world was ending.”
It’s, umm, urban fantasy. yeah, I’ll go with that. That setting the thumb on fire? Accidental magic. And the world ending isn’t where I intended to go, not really. More of massive change as ghosties and ghoulies and long legged beasties… well, vampires and werewolves and a few other nominal figments of our collective imaginations become real.
So why am I writing here instead of on it? Because I forgot to grab my thumb drive this morning and the story’s sitting at home instead of with me while I try to get ‘real’ work.
Lessons to learn, again. Don’t leave the thumb at home.