And so the plot thickens

Another 2,065 words down. Things are starting to happen. Surprising things, both in the story and out.

As I plod along with this plot and these characters, new ideas are cropping up as I go about my "real" life. I'm envisioning dream sequences. And new employees with dark secrets. And the re-emergence of past loves. And savior potential for new loves.

All in all, this writing project is becoming quite fun. In fact, I'm already developing a plan for taking this pile of drivel and transforming it into a work I might actually hawk to an agent or two or 400. (Are there 400 agents in the New York area? Possibly, but I doubt they all handle this genre.)

Although I did experience a slight moral setback last night . . . I've been quite pleased, as anyone can tell who's perusing these entries, with my progress thus far. Have I been perfect? No, but I've been writing. So, last night, after logging my 2,309 words and updating my word count, I started reviewing some of the posts on the NaNoWriMo blog.

Some freaks have already passed 37,000 words. Good grief. More than twice my paltry output. Of course, it's all relative. Some people are stuck at only 9,500 words. And who the hell knows if any of this will ever see public light in finished form? (But one person did post that he or she has already attracted some agent interest. I don't know who or where that individual is, but I know that I hate him. And according to Anne Lamott, such animosity is perfectly normal and natural. So there, whoever you are, you self-righteous jerk. I will never buy your book.)

Hmmm . . . I wonder what this will do to me in the grand world of publishing karma? Most likely nothing at all. I'm sure there are just as many, if not more, fellow writers who would love to wish the same ill will to me if I were ballsy enough to crow about such good fortune.

Now I have only to reach the point where I can achieve such fortune and thereby invite such invective from my literary peers. (What a sad, sick, maladjusted lot we are. Why can't we all get along?)

Anyway, I'm happy. Slowly but surely, I'm eating away at my target wordcount. I made my 14-day minimum. I can start the next week with my head held high. By the end of tomorrow, I should only be 3,000 words off target--easily gained if I maintain my 2,000 word-a-day pace.

So here's to Stephen King, my hero and professional pacesetter.