WIPmarathon Check-in No. 6

Despite getting off to an intense and somewhat stressful week back at the day job, I actually managed to get quite a bit of writing done! Here’s what’s been happening…

Last Word Count: 11, 550

Current WC + CC (or SC): 20, 738               

WIP Issues this week:

All the feels. This story is incredibly intense and emotions run high in the my characters. I needed to write some really dark and emotional scenes, and given the week I was having, I struggled to do that. In the end, I typed through the tears and wrote the scenes the way they needed to be instead of giving in to the allure of fluffy unicorns and rainbows.

What I learnt this week in writing: 

I can type while crying. Handy skill really. I don’t often manage to reduce myself to tears while writing, but this WIP has done it to me twice! And that’s okay. Because if what I’m feeling is that visceral, at least some of that must be going down on the page, right? And that’s not a bad thing.

What distracted me this week while writing: 

Day job stress. Cillian Murphy. Trying to sort out VISA stuff for LonCon3.

Last 200 words: Here they are, in all their unedited, first draft glory…

“Is that why you kissed me?” I ask, gently.

Maybe.” Crow kicks his toe through the dust. “When a guy knows nothing much at all, he’s got to hold onto what he does. And right now, that’s you.”

Only until you figure out who you are and realize you should be a hundred thousand miles away from this shit-hole.” Vitriol curdles my words.

Maybe.” He drags his fingers through his hair. “But there’s nothing stopping you from coming with me?”

Are you serious?” This guy’s nuttier than a port-o-potty at a peanut festival.

Let’s figure out who I am and take it from there, shall we?” He cracks his knuckles, one by one. “Seems like we both need each other and right now, that’s enough. It’s all I’ve got.”

And what have I got? Not a hell of a lot more, that’s for sure. Sooner than I’d like, Crow’ll figure who he is and realize he never even should’ve looked at me sideways. But it’s nice having him look at me, like a person and not just a piece of ass, like I’m more than just a rap sheet and list of fuck-ups. Might as well enjoy what I’ve got while I’ve got it, even if it means dying inside all over again the day he says goodbye.

How has your writing been going this week?

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