That's Called a Streak

I wrote a thousand words last night. I wrote a thousand words the night before.

Aaaand, the night before that, if memory serves (the thing about having a five-month-old in the house is time kind of gets fuzzy).

This is a marked improvement over the previous state of affairs.  Which is to say, I was writing, and it was fine, but it was a trickle rather than a flow.  Two hundred words in a night?  That was A-OK.  Two hundred words was a gift.

But this?  Much better.  The two hundred, three hundred word nights, they were fine -- emphasis on the word fine -- but in my lucid moments I couldn't help but do the math.  How much more of this book is there to write?  How long is it going to take at this rate?

Not that there's a rush, of course.  It's always better to be right than to be quick.

But this?  Three thousand words in three nights?  Much better.  I mean, it's actually slow for where I am with The King's Glamour -- at this point in the story I'd typically be cranking out two or three thousand words a night -- a minimum of ten thousand to fifteen thousand words a week.

Why so slow?

Dunno.  I could try and blame the baby, but that's hardly fair.  Layla's a dream; though I will say my arms get exhausted from holding her, carrying her, playing with her.  She is one strong baby.

Work?  Sure, why not?  But I mostly put that stuff out of my mind when I'm writing.

No, I think the blame -- if I'm going to use the word -- is on my head.  Mine and the story I'm writing.

Firstly, sequels are hard.  It's the kind of thing you don't think about.  Shouldn't this be easier?  The characters are all there, right?  You've already been through the ringer with them once.  What could be so bad?

Well, sometimes characters want to do their own stuff.  The Ellie in this book is pretty different from any Ellies we've seen before.  That said, she's still the same person, and integrating the new with the old is tricky business.

The setting, too.  World building is fun, but the world of Fall has been evolving almost constantly as I've been writing this book.  Little things, big things, things which need thinking about.  Which means there have been nights where I've written a paragraph, then realized there was something about Fall I needed to think about.  So I'd write two thousand words of notes, then a second paragraph, then collapse into bed.

A good problem to have, but still: time consuming.

And here's the thing: I'm not doing anything differently.  Oh, I'll turn on Freedom right when I sit down, I'll leave my iPad upstairs, force myself to work instead of that thing I think all writers do called preparing to work.

Still, I'm in the home stretch with this book.  And things could grind to a halt tonight, or tomorrow night, but I feel like I might have finally turned a corner.  The world, she be built.  Ish.  There'll be refinements -- I've been wanting to find out what sort of home one of the characters lives in and what's up with his family for months now -- but it seems like the ground rules are laid, the mysteries are all teased, now it's time to bring everything together.