It's strange to think I've only got three more chapters after this one before I wrap Act I. Most of the plot points I'm using (and a lot of the ones I'm not) developed over the course of eight months or so last year during my previous resolution. It feels like I've been writing Act I for...oh, about one one-hundredth of a century. A long time. Being able to stick a fork in it will feel nice. Act II is going to be really bizarre and not at all like Act I.
Things are going much faster now. Of course, now that I mention it I realize that this coming week is another short story week. And so it goes.
I'm probably going to wrap up that clone story I left off at a cliffhanger at the end of December. Either that or do something random and bizarre. Who knows. Probably not something extremely long, though--I'm itching to make progress with the book
It's always weird doing important things in small chunks. You never really think you're getting anywhere because you're too close to the process. It's only when you step back every few months that you realize you've gone a long way. When your face is buried in it you tend to lose perspective. Then you step back and realize, holy crap, I've written most of a book.
I've mentioned before that most of my philosophy of life can be summed up as "boring and consistent". If I ever need to write my own biography, that's probably going to be the title.
Big things happen because you do little things regularly. Most people don't just randomly find a hundred large laying around when they want to buy a house. They have to save a little of each paycheck over a long period of time. And nobody wakes up in shape, with six pack abs and the ability to run a marathon. They spend a little bit of time every day following a routine. Routines are the epitome of boring and consistent. It's why they're called routines, after all.
That's the damnedest thing about routines, though. At any given time, I think I'm dead broke, wasting money on crap I shouldn't be wasting money on. I think I could be working harder in the gym or eating better or writing more or writing better, spending more time with friends and family or getting more work done at work.
And then I stop, realize that the important thing is that my ass is in the chair, so to speak, and then I look back over my notes and realize I've done quite a bit over the last few years. I look at my checkbook, realize I've invested a fairly huge amount of money into my retirement accounts or I look at old workout logs and notice all my lifts are way up, my pants still fit and I can still run a mile if I need to, even though it's winter and indoor cardio sucks worse than a vacuum cleaner during a power outage.
And I read over stuff I wrote a few days ago when I was absolutely convinced I was just vomiting gouts of garbage, absolute drek, onto the page and...it's not that bad. Maybe the stuff I wrote today was drek, but the stuff I wrote yesterday was fairly solid. And so it goes.
The book is doing well. I'm pounding out about a thousand words a day now. Sometimes more, over the weekend, or when I'm on a tear, sometimes less. I'm kind of in a groove now.