Novel progress — 30,560, and no gaps now — that’s a clean read, from the start to about a third of the way through the book. Progress, my peeps.
What’s strange is that even though this is in some ways a wildly ambitious book (series?), and if I think about that too hard, I start freaking out, when I’m actually writing, it’s going smoothly, and I’m enjoying the process. What? So weird.
It’s strange — after two kids, and cancer, I feel like I’m slowly coming back around to remembering why I wanted to be a fiction writer to begin with. What a long road it’s been.
And then they were turning a corner, arriving at the dock, and a tall ship rose in front of him, with the sea grey and stormy behind. A deep longing pierced him, lightning racing through his muscles and bones.
They were to load cargo, it seemed, hefting boxes and barrels from land to ship, over and over again. Hard, sweaty work, even in the cold air, but Neelan had never minded hard work. With every passage along the gangplank, with every deep draught of sea air, it seemed as if his head grew a little clearer.
Maybe he could keep this job for a little while, a few days or a few weeks?
If he did, he might find himself again.
Goodnight, internet. Sweet dreams.