It turns out that I actually missed *two* doctors’ appointments yesterday, in the midst of novel-finishing. In addition to forgetting about hosting tonight’s writing workshop. Balls, they are dropping. Luckily, they were both routine follow-ups and can be rescheduled, and my writing workshop is forgiving, but I feel bad about inconveniencing the docs and writers.
And then I was chugging along nicely on my Wild Cards story, having drafted 6111 words today (grateful for Ethiopian food leftovers that made me not have to think about cooking at all). I was thinking, hm, it’s supposed to be 9-11K, I think if I do another thousand words tonight, one more scene, then I can send it to George, and let him know I’ll fill out the last 2K on Friday, after the surgery wooziness has passed. I have about that much description I want to put in; that should be okay.
But then I thought, *is* it supposed to be 9-11K? Let me just go back into e-mail and check that.
It is supposed to be 12-15K, it turns out, a novelette. Whoops. That is not happening tonight. So I will, instead, re-plot slightly, to allow for the extra wordage (was worried, but having done it, I think it will actually be a notably better story at that length), and plan on writing another 6K on Friday.
It can all be coped with, and I will not panic. In fact, I am rather proud of myself for having decided earlier that the correct thing to do in the face of all this was send a kindly Jed out for cheesecake AND apple pie. I was having a hard time choosing between them, and as Uncle Vorthys likes to declare, “No artificial shortages!” Words to live by.