Tag Archives: confidence

Why You Should NEVER Compare Yourself.

30 Aug

(Part One of a three-part series.)

Comparison.

Today, we will take a completely one-sided look at it: why you should NEVER, EVER, EVER compare yourself with other writers. Ignore your instinct to think about the merits of comparison—I’m saving those for next time, when we take another completely one-sided look at the topic.  From the other side, naturally.

Last week, I compared comparison to a knife.  Going along with today’s one-sided perspective, we will look at the ways said knife can be absolutely useless, and even harmful.  Next time, we’ll look at how amazing and helpful a knife can be.

But not today.

Imagine you have a knife in your hand.  If you grip it by it’s handle, it can be helpful.  Forget helpful.  Imagine you’re holding it by the blade.

Holding it by the blade is dangerous at worst and useless at best.  The tighter you grip it, the more dangerous it becomes.  Like the knife, comparison can be a useful tool, but only if you know how to properly hold it.  The problem with comparison is that it’s all to easy to hold it by the blade, where it becomes useless.  Dangerous.  Painful, especially if you wrap your hand around it and cling so tight you bleed.

Here are things we cling to that have the potential to make us bleed:

There will always be someone WORSE.

This one’s tricky.  On the surface, it looks encouraging.  Surely I can’t be the worst person to ever try this, we think.  If THAT got published, my novel can, too. It’s too easy to take that and proceed with confidence.

Problem: it’s false confidence.  It’s a one-sided view that forgets that books on the shelf—any books on the shelf—are the product of much time and money, many stamps of approval.  That view ignores what books do right and looks only at what we perceive to be flaws.  All of this leads to the potential for deluded attitudes, which can lead to deluded writing.

In this sense, comparison is useless, because it does not challenge your work and it can lead to false confidence.  It can all too easily foster a well, it’s good enough! attitude, instead of a how good can it be? attitude.

There will always be someone BETTER.

Also true.  Very, very, very true.  It’s probably not too hard to see where this mindset can get dangerous.  We compare.  We despair.  We read something amazing, something mindblowing that resonates with us, and we think: that author is a superhuman genius and I can never be that good, ever, Ever, EVER, so I should just stop now and someone please pass me the trash can so I can forget I ever tried. Trash can. NOW!

Forget the years they spent developing their craft.  Forget the innumerable drafts that go into the finished product on the shelf.  Forget all the rejections it took for them to get there.  We want to be them, we want to be them NOW, except we kind of just want to be the easy published version of them who just magically whipped up a perfect book in no time.

That will depress anyone.

This kills your writing, and maybe even all the heart you’ve put into it, because it’s so dang depressing.  Like the thoughts about there’s always someone WORSE than me, it’s unbalanced.  Instead of only looking at the flaws, like we do when we perceive ourselves to be better than someone, we focus only on those areas where the superhuman geniuses succeed.  We forget that even superhuman geniuses put sweat and tears into their work.

So, what?

Don’t cling.  Not to the blade, anyway.  When you hold fast to the wrong things—only the flaws of some, only the raving successes of others—you’re likely to bleed.  Hold on to whole truth, not the skewed half-truths that so easily slip in under your skin.

After writing all this, it seems almost impossible that comparison can be helpful.  It can be, though.  Really.  Next time, we’ll look at the knife from the other unabashedly one-sided perspective: why you should TOTALLY compare yourself to other writers.

10 Things I Learned From First Graders…

28 May

Well, since you’ve all been dying to find out whether or not I got eaten alive by a den of hungry first graders the other day at my event as a guest speaker, today’s post is about that.  (About the event, rather — not about me getting eaten alive.)

Thank you, everyone who gave me encouragement and advice and ideas!  The event went well, especially considering I don’t baby-sit often and the only kids I see on a regular basis are the ones who treat the Starbucks café like their own personal zoo.

These kids, though?  These kids were adorable.  Maybe it’s fun-aunt-slash-kind-grandmother syndrome — they were adorable because I had no responsibility and was only around them for a very limited amount of time? — but whatever.  It was fun.

I’ll spare you the details of what I said, since I did pretty much what I told you about in the last post.  Instead, I thought I’d give you a fun list of the stuff they taught me.

(As usual, I feel I should advise you to click over to the actual post, rather than attempt to read it on the main page — the list below is much less cramped that way.)

10 Things I Learned From First Graders

  1. Six- and seven-year-olds are way more articulate than I thought they were. They expressed themselves with confidence and clarity when they spoke.
  2. They aren’t afraid to ask questions, and they asked some really good ones! Among the questions: Is it hard to write a novel? (Yes and no.) How many books do I plan to write? (Several, since I’m hoping this will be the first in a series.) Am I going to be rich? (Hahahahahahahahaha.) Where do I write? (Starbucks, or home, or anywhere quiet.)
  3. While many questions were surprisingly articulate, there were a few that were so adorably first-grade: “What is the cover made out of?” Not, “Who gets to design it?” — but what is it actually made out of? Um…thicker paper?  Thin cardboard?  Cardstock?  (Forgot to put that on my list of answers to prepare.  Silly me.)  Also adorably first-grade: “Do you have to write a lot of books when you write a book?”  Translation: “How do so many copies get printed?”  The sweet girl thought authors had to make, by hand, every single book that makes its way to a store.
  4. First-graders, these days, are not sheltered kids. They were all already familiar with Harry Potter and Percy Jackson, which totally surprised me.  Like, not just familiar with the names, but they recognized the cover from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Plus, at least three of them are currently reading the third Percy Jackson book.  Huh.  Good thing I didn’t bust out Dora the Explorer or Magic Schoolbus and expect them to think I was cool.
  5. They like to talk.  A lot. It’s probably more like they just enjoy the attention, but that meant lots of talking.  They were well-behaved, though.  The talking made things easier for me, because they were neither bored nor disinterested, and the Q&A time went on for longer than expected.
  6. I learned that I do, indeed, have a catchy title/main character name. I’ll call him “S.H.” for now, because at the rate my edits are going, someone might be able to whip up something with his name before I get the chance, and that?  Would not be good.  I didn’t even mean to bring his full name up, but I opened my notebook to the title page and they all read it out loud!  From then on, it was, “S.H. this,” and “S.H. that.”  Something about hearing his name said over and over again by strangers just warmed my little heart.
  7. Along with that, they are idea generators! My book is geared more towards the YA audience (though with first-graders reading Harry and Percy, I guess anyone could end up reading it one day), but if I ever decide to write for six-year-olds, I am now well-stocked with ideas.  “Miss Olson!” they exclaimed, “You could write ‘S.H. and the Missing Eyeballs’!” [giggles] “Or, ‘S.H. and the Missing Cheeks’!” [cue adorably freckled kid covering his cheeks as if they've fallen off] “Or, ‘S.H. and the Missing Freckles’!!”  I guess, to six-year-olds, all it takes to make a hit is a good name and something that’s missing.
  8. They’re perceptive without really knowing how perceptive they are. I asked them, “What tools do you need to write a book?”  Among the usual — pencil, pen, paper, computer — I got an interesting answer: an eraser.  That was fun to work with, because it led to a conversation about revision and multiple drafts.  I learned how to explain revision to them on the fly, and it was part Stephen King and part luck: “When you’re writing, you want to share the ideas in your head with someone else,” I told them.  “After I finish writing them down, I read them.  If I look at what I have and go, ‘Nope — other people won’t see the ideas in my head like I do,’ then it’s time to write it again.  I change it until it’s able to make other people see what I see.”  They got it.  Miraculously, they got it.
  9. In case there was ever any question, kids ABSOLUTELY DO CARE if their parents show up for things. After the Q&A time, the kids were herded to the library, where they got to read the books¹ they’d written in front of guests and family.  It’s a great idea, actually — very bookstore-book-signing-esque, where they get to be the author for the day, complete with refreshments and flowers.  Anyway, I had to console a little girl whose daddy told her he was coming, then didn’t show up.  Sigh.  They notice.  Yes, they do.
  10. The tenth thing I learned?  Even though it didn’t take much to impress these kids, their enthusiasm was contagious and motivating nonetheless. “I’ll buy all your books, Miss Olson!” one kid said, with the others nodding.  “Will you let us read it when it’s published?”  Count on it, babes.  You may be in fourth grade by the time it’s out of manuscript form and covered with whatever a cover is made from, but when that day comes?  Heck yes, you can read it.  Your library will get the first signed copy.²

All in all, you can probably tell I had a blast.  Who knew I liked interacting with kids so much?  Not me.  Maybe one day I’ll have some of my own.  (Sigh of relief heard from my parents, in-laws, and husband, I’m sure.)

Now: on to writing!  I’ve got ambitious goals for the day, to accompany my heightened motivation (and to make up for my less-than-stellar rest-of-the-week), so here goes.  How’s the writing going for all of you guys?  We’re several weeks in to the Creativity Workshop — are you guys hanging in there, or are you discouraged, or somewhere in the middle?  How’s the writing going for those of you not participating in the Workshop?

¹Illustrated non-fiction books about sea horses, starfish, octopi, and sharks. (When I saw these books, it became clear where the “What’s the cover made out of?” question came from.)(Construction paper, in their world, FYI.)

²By the way, nothing after the part about them being in fourth grade when it’s done actually met sound waves.  Kept the rest in my head.  Didn’t want to frighten them with happybabble.

Who, What, When, Where, Why

26 May

Well, today should be interesting.

I’m breaking from my usual routine of get-up-drink-latte-write-blog-write-workout-and-so-on and am merely drinking black coffee from a French press, preparing to go do something I’ve never done before.

A friend who is a first grade teacher invited me to come speak to her class for Author Day, and I’m this mix of nerves-meet-excitement about it.  When she invited me to speak, I warned her that I’m not technically an author, yet — that while I’ve made significant progress on my novel, I still have a long road to travel before that word applies to me.

Eh, she didn’t care.  “They’ll love you,” she told me, “They’ll be excited just to meet someone who’s writing a novel, published or not.”  Alrighty, then.  Speak I shall.

I’m going to do my best not to bore the little darlings with my (exciting-to-only-me) array of colored pens, my myriad notebooks, my stacks upon stacks of post-it notes, and the minutiae of what goes into a novel.  Most of that will stay hidden away in my tote bag.  Instead, I’m going to focus on the basics: what is a story, and how do you write it?  Can you do it as a first grader?  Does a book have to be a certain length? (Cue my dear visual aids of A Wrinkle in Time versus Harry Potter and the Order of The Phoenix.)  Where can you get ideas? (EVERYWHERE.)

After some attempts at engaging them, I’ll bust out my (totally geeky awesome) notebooks that represent the process — I have one with pictures of my villains and loads of brainstorming, a tattered first draft, a three-ring bindered second draft, and an example of some pages that are bleeding orange, purple, pink, red, and a couple of neon highlighting swipes to boot.

Before all of this, however, I need to tame my mane of hair so I don’t scare them away when I walk in the door.  Seriously.  I’m not exactly sure what a banshee looks like, but it’s the word that keeps coming to mind when I think of how my hair looks this morning.

Deep breath.  It’s only a twenty-minute guest visit.  Twenty minutes.  Not hard, right?

Right.

It’s too late for me to fish for ideas, but out of curiosity — what would you guys say to a group of first graders about being an (aspiring) author?

To Fall and Crash and Break

22 Feb

Before I update you all on Phase Two of Project: Edit, perhaps I should begin with a little story.

I’m the sort of girl who offers to make her sister’s 250 wedding invitations.  The sort of girl who, when the choices of print shop suddenly become print-shop-with-wonky-discoloration versus print-shop-with-insanely-ridiculous-prices, decides to go with neither print shop and opt instead for make-each-invite-and-response-card-with-her-own-two-loving-tender-hands.  I’m that sort of girl.

Fortunately, my sweet husband is the sort of husband who says, “Look here! I can turn the espresso-and-white maps into black-and-white maps, and squeeze eight onto a page.  This will cut costs and eliminate the issues with discoloration — then, we can do all the color copies at print-shop-with-insanely-ridiculous-prices!  Then you’ll only have to make the RSVP cards by hand, and the original price you quoted will stay about the same!”

Bless him.

So — all that to say, I (sometimes) bite off more than is comfortable to chew.  Not that I can’t chew it.  It’s just uncomfortable.  (See also: my withered hand when I finished the RSVP cards. If I had done everything by hand, in one weekend, as was my original insane solution, I’d probably still be in pain. And that was last June.)

This week has been annoying and discouraging and overwhelming.  Note to self, and to everyone who’s up to speed on what I’m working on these days¹: when taking handwritten notes in a spiral notebook, if the plan is to enter them into the computer in an organized fashion, do it in small chunks at the end of each daily session instead of all at once.  The notes themselves aren’t all that intimidating; the system in which I’ve organized them isn’t the problem, either.  The problem is that it’s tedious.  Worth it?  Almost certainly.  Fun?  Certainly not.

I’ve also felt the tendency to compare myself to others this week, in a way that’s not necessarily healthy.  Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of reading² and while that’s inspiring and all, it’s also a wee bit discouraging.  It’s so easy to pick up a book and forget that it didn’t just magically appear, in polished-and-published form: no.  These things took work.  Just like mine is taking work.  I keep forgetting that this is my first time to edit a novel and that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with learning how to do it.

So.  

Perhaps now is a good time to mention that thanks to the Olympics, I am in awe of snowboarders.  I spent an entire afternoon watching the girls’ halfpipe competition, marveling at Torah Bright, at Gretchen Bleiler, at Hannah Teter, at how easy they make it look.  Also?  I marveled at how insanely painful it must be to mess up, to fall and crash and break.  

I’ve been airing my snowboarding awe to my husband all week.  On Saturday night, when all my little frustrations about editing surfaced along with my ridiculous snowboarding dreams, he just listened patiently and reminded me of some truth: those snowboarders didn’t just hop on a board, jump into a halfpipe, and proceed to nail their switch backside 720′s³.

No.  They practiced.  A lot.  Like, a lot a lot a lot.  And, even gold medalists and their toughest competitors fall at the Olympics, because they’re giving everything they have.  They don’t play it safe, they take risks that may or may not pay off.

You see where I’m going, yes?  Huge goals require huge risks, lots of practice, lots of patience, and the understanding that sometimes, you just might crash in the snow while you’re trying something amazing.  Oh yeah, and to remember that everyone has to start somewhere and learn along the way.

I’m learning.  This novel is a huge project, overwhelming sometimes, uncomfortable sometimes, but not impossible.  Not impossible at all.

Revision Update, Phase Two | All notes have been entered into pretty little spreadsheets.  Still have more work as far as prioritizing them goes, but on the whole, it’s coming along.

¹If you’re not up to speed, click here and here

²FINALLY finished The Time Traveler’s Wife (Audrey Niffenegger) and Bright Lights, Big Ass (Jen Lancaster).  Had to read them concurrently so as not to fall into total, time-travel-tragedy-induced despair.

³I looked this up.  According to this NYTimes article, this is the cherry-on-top move from Torah Bright’s gold-medal-winning run; it’s “a perplexing double rotation with a blind landing that flummoxes all her competitors.” (I’m loving the abundance of the letter in that sentence, BTW.)

Scissors

13 Jan

I am afraid of scissors.

Not just any scissors, though — only the kind of scissors found in the hand of an insecure, inexperienced hairdresser who pretends he knows how to cut curly hair until two hours later, when he comes back crying with an instructor over the mess he’s obviously made.

Those kind of scissors, you know?

I also get irked when instructors pretend they know what they’re doing, too, and refuse to admit that the mane of frizzy non-curls and the shelf-like excuse for layers looks like crap.  And when, in response to my “Areyoukiddingmethislooksabsolutelyterrible!” gasp, they (yes, they, as in two separate supposedly competent instructors) advise me to “Just go wash it yourself and see if it looks okay, then come back and we’ll fix it.”

I expected more from you, Toni & Guy Academy in Carrollton, Texas.

Maybe I should back up a little bit.  I’ve been to this place twice before and received stellar service, which is a big deal because I’ve had some major Hair Trauma in my life¹.  So, I decided to return even though the guy who did my hair those two times moved on to a real salon — I figured that asking for someone who has a lot of experience with curls, combined with the instructors roaming the floor helping out their students, would land me at least something presentable.

I was wrong.

My stylist hardly spoke to me for two hours² and when he did, he mumbled.  He asked me how to style my hair (and then proceeded to not take my advice).  He cut it haphazardly, and not completely, and hair kept falling out of his fingers when he pulled it out to cut it.  Five minutes in, my hair was already starting to dry.  With curls?  Not a good look.  There was no hair product on it at all, and all the tiny curls began to expand.  And expand.  And expand.

I gave him the benefit of the doubt until he began to style it.  He brings out an on-its-deathbed bottle of styling cream, and when I say, “That looks almost empty,” he looks at it and goes, “Huh.”   Then he squirts a pea-sized amount³ and proceeds to mess with the same (already dry) section of hair for the next thirty minutes.  (For visual assistance here, you should know that the rest of my hair was twisted and clipped above my forehead, like a frizzed out mane of horsehair.)

I start to get angry at about the time he pulls out his blow-dryer and asks, “So, do you normally just do a power blow on it?”  When I say, “I have no idea what that means,” he asks if I use the blow-dryer sans attachments.  Okay, I haven’t had many hair cuts in the past decade, but I know one thing: you don’t blow-dry curly hair without a diffuser attachment.  You just don’t.  I mention the diffuser, and he responds with a confident, “Uh…I think I have one of those here somewhere…?”

Long story not-so-short, he steps away and finally asks for help.  The instructor comes over, unclips my horsehair-like mane, and foofs it just a bit.  I couldn’t believe it — this was how an instructor decides to fix the mess?  It looked like an asymmetrical frizzed-out helmet of hair, a two-inch mane of ugly bordering my face and neck; the back was a two-tiered wall, with the one layer I saw looking more like a shelf than a layer, about an inch higher (and straight across) than the longest part of my hair.

I’m not exaggerating.

After communicating my frustrations to a different instructor (to no avail), I headed for the closest real Toni & Guy.  

I walked in the door.  Everyone laughed.  I cannot tell you how relieving it was to have a salon full of hairdressers laughing at my hair: finally, finally, some validation for how awful it was, some “What happened to you?” sort of empathy.  Oh yeah, and a salon full of people who knew exactly how to fix it.

Forty-five minutes later (and about as many dollars), Lupe finished with me.  He far surpassed my directive of “Fix this any way you want to, just help me not want to hide in the bathroom forever.”  It’s sassy, semi-short, and looks pretty (as opposed to crap).  Score for Lupe: return customer for life!

My favorite part of my post-traumatic-shock conversation, as Lupe transformed me from zombie nightmare into a hair model: “Just imagine,” he says, after I tell him about the novel I’m writing, “If you had a book signing today, and you had to go to it with hair like you came in with!”  I know, Lupe, I know.

(Inner Drama Queen = indulged.) (Thanks.)

¹Incident #1: Two weeks before high school graduation, year 2000.  Hair was thinned out on the bottom so much that I looked like a mushroom head with Medusa snakes slithering out from the bottom.  It took about two years to grow out (two years of college).  This scared and scarred me, and I did not get another hair cut until last summer. (Yes, in 2009.  Yes, I went almost the entire decade without scissors touching my hair.  Surprisingly, it didn’t look that bad.)  Incident #2: In 2002, I was on a mission trip with my church, and we were building a front porch; silly me, I forgot to tie my hair back that day, and accidentally ended up getting a large chunk in the front caught in a thick drill.  It ripped out.  I never saw any fashion magazines setting trends for my look, incidentally. (When it grew back, it started as a strange sprig of hair that stuck straight up in miniature-unicorn-horn-like fashion.)

²Have I mentioned yet that it took two hours?  Two hours.  For something that made me want to lock myself in a bathroom.

³I typically use about two full pumps (i.e. about ten times the size of one pea) or else my hair will frizz out.  I also have to do this when it’s wet, or else it won’t make any difference at all.

Rocks

4 Jan

It’s odd, this feeling of wait-I-reached-my-goal-and-I-don’t-need-to-write-thousands-of-words-today.  A good feeling, yes — odd, nonetheless.

One thing hasn’t changed, though: it’s a Monday morning, and I’m at Starbucks with my laptop and my non-fat latte¹.  Though I’m not writing, reading, or editing my manuscript at the moment, I’m trying to retain some semblance of a normal work schedule so it won’t be rough starting back to work mid-January.  

So, I’ve been thinking, still processing some things.  (Abrupt transition time!)  Why is it that finishing the second draft feels so satisfying, but in a wholly other way than finishing the initial draft did?  I mean, if anything, I expected the second draft to feel a little less satisfying since I’d already felt the joy of completing a manuscript.  After a little bit of thought, I don’t think it’s merely that I set a goal and met it, though that’s a large part of it.

No, I think it’s because a first draft and second draft are wildly different animals², even though they seem similar on the surface.

After completing the first draft, I had this overwhelming sense of Wow, I just DID that!  Never before had I written something so thick; never had I created a novel from scratch, let alone actually followed through with writing it.  It amazed me to see how the brain works, how living, breathing characters appear from nowhere to populate the fictional terrain.  I was so satisfied with the first draft because it was just that: a first draft.  The I-can-actually-do-this draft.  The one where you know it’s not great, but at least it’s there, a rough piece of stone just waiting to be polished into something: potential.

The first draft was hard, but not in the same ways the second draft turned out to be.  For the second draft (which was almost a complete rewrite), I put a lot more thought into it.  Characters, subplots, the plot itself, the details, theme, pacing, emotion, dialogue, layers — the shadowy first draft evolved into a more concrete, cohesive thing.  Though I knew where the story was headed (unlike the first draft), it was much more difficult to write it this time around.  I edited myself a little more, tried to give it more shape, more depth, more layers.

I think that’s the difference.  

The second draft has less words than the first, but much more happens.  I have a better grasp on the world I’ve created, and I’m excited about the way everything unfolds.  New threads have worked their way into this tapestry to give it more texture and color, and there are a lot less loose ends than there were in the first draft.  It took work, diligent work.  The second draft feels satisfying because after all that work, it’s much better than it was.  That rough rock is starting to look like something — it’s still unpolished, but there’s a story there.  I’m not merely satisfied with its potential, but with the shape it’s taking.  Those are two very different things.

I’m gearing up for the next phase: shifting the weight from my creative side to my analytical (much more objective) one.  Editing, I expect, will teach me a whole new set of lessons, and I’m excited.

I’m curious: what do you find satisfying about the writing process?  I was tempted to write ‘the most satisfying,’ but I think it would be hard to pick just one thing.  

¹What has changed about this scene?  I’m wearing my new J. Crew sweater and my new J. Crew scarf as I drink my latte at my laptop.  I wished for the entire J. Crew catalogue for Christmas, but alas, it seems even the sales are expensive.  I’m more than satisfied to have four new pieces from their ’09 line in my wardrobe, though.  Whee!

²For me, at least.

Can She Do It?

22 Dec

Probably not, if she keeps playing with adorable pictures of Mr. Cat wearing Christmas bows.  However, that’s not the plan for the day.  The plan for the day?  To finish.

Hopefully.

Due to various bouts of sickishness, three weekends full of plans (two vacations and one wedding gig), and the realistic expectation that going to visit my parents for Christmas will be — as usual — like taking a brief trip to another planet on which all we do is eat, play games, and have Lost marathons, it all comes down to today.

And today, my friends, is daunting.  

The good news is that my average word count, on the days I’ve gotten to write, is about 1,500, with the past four days averaging around the 2,000 mark.  Then, there’s the…let’s call it other news, shall we? (Not bad.  Just other.)  That news?  In order to meet my Diligent December goal, I still need to write 5,121 words.  Today¹.  

It’s still early, though, and I wrote about 600 before the sun poked its shiny little face above the cloudy horizon, so I’m encouraged!  I also have a pretty good idea of what I want to write, it’s just the whole getting it on paper in the right way that may be challenging.  Also challenging?  The sheer number of words.  

It can be done, though, and I hope it will be done.

Thanks for all your encouragement, you guys!  It’s super valuable to me as I go through this process, and my writing is better because of you all.  I’ll try to be back with a status post later today or tomorrow with the results of my mini-marathon² today!

Okay.  Time for another coffee.

Diligent December Update: 64,879 down | 5,121 to go | 92.68% finished!


¹Technically, I need to write them by Christmas Eve, but hey, even the most diligent among us would have a hard time resisting the pull of Planet Let’s-Watch-Lost-And-Eat-And-Play-Games-And-Oh-Yeah-Christmas-Too.  So realistically?  Today.

²By the way: I am a member of the slow-and-steady-daily-goals camp, as opposed to the write-as-much-as-you-can-every-now-and-then camp.  However, I am also a citizen of Meet-Your-Goals Land and despite my best efforts, I need to take a brief voyage to the other side of the lake (via canoe), sit by the fire of write-as-much-as-you-can, and then do a little tribal celebration dance³ when I reach the end via their foreign methods.

³Oy vey.  Better go while I’m still ahead.

News flash!  This just in!  Extra bonus update so I don’t leave you all in suspense until the next time I get to post…since I’m not sure when that will be: I didn’t finish today, but I’m okay with that for several reasons, which I shall now list for you!  

One: I cut my “need to write” words from 5,706 to 2,093, which means I wrote 3,613 today – I’m pleased with that, for sure.  

Two:  those 3K+ words were quality, and I’m excited about them.  

Three: I stopped right after major drama and right before even bigger drama.  Didn’t want to rush through my ending just for the sake of finishing a goal.  Quality trumps speed, in this case.

Four: Um, two words: present wrapping.  I did a lot of it tonight, plus packing, plus kitty control.

Five: Though I have just over 2K to my goal, I think the book will run longer.  Therefore, I’m putting writing on hold for the holiday, will resume on Monday, and plan to finish by New Year’s Eve.

In case I don’t get to say it before then, Merry Christmas, everyone!  Thanks for your sweet comments and support, and I’m sorry I haven’t been able to respond well yet.  They encouraged me greatly today, so thank you!

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