The Fat Lady Is Singing

Well, in all honesty, I can't say that I wrote a novel in November this year, as I could last year. Because this year, though I did hit 50,000 words (50,220 to be exact at this point), what I've got is probably about half of a novel. Last year's was a self-contained piece--beginning, middle, and end--but this one still needs a lot more to it--including an ending. But now that the race is over, I can stop, take a step back, and perhaps plot out my baby (and if anyone wants to volunteer to read it and give me some guidance on what the hell is working and what isn't, I'd be thrilled!). I think it's actually okay. I mean I feel good about most of what I've written (okay, some of it is just filler), but it needs more of an arc, and it needs a good punchy--but not happy, I detest happy--ending. I mean what does she do? I'm thinking about making this a tragedy and having her be accepted at HBS at the end. But that's pretty boring, and while I don't want a happy ending, I don't want an ending that will depress everyone (I'm kidding, HBS people! Well, partially, anyway). Writing 50,000 words in a month is really not that hard. In fact, this year, having already done it once, it was surprsingly easy. I never felt like I didn't go out or didn't do things to get it done. However, now the really hard part comes. Finishing the damn thing without the pressure of a deadline. Not that I'm a competitive sort or anything. No not me. But writing without having to, well, that's something else entirely. Although, since I probably need a break from this one, perhaps this would be an excellent time to go back and start rewriting last year's novel. Now there's an idea! (Could someone please check in on my occasionally and make sure I'm working on something?)