|The word count as of this morning.|
Something really exciting happened to me this week.
I was home on uni holidays and it was dinner time. Mum was serving up around me. I was sitting on one side of the dinning room table transfixed. I only needed 25 more words…17 more…6 more. One. One more word. With a tiny inconspicuous ping something very, very exciting happened- I hit 25 000 words.
No matter what way you look at it that’s a lot. Why was it so exciting? A novel is between 50 and 80 thousand words. 25 000 is a pretty big milestone. That’s halfway. This thing I’m writing, which I’ve technically been writing for longer than this blog, is halfway to a quantity of words which would make it a novel.
I worked out the other day that to finish it by 2012 all I have to do is write 166 words a day. Right now that’s a devastatingly achievable number. There is a very real chance that by the end of this year I’ll have written enough words to fill the pages of a book.
I’ve dreamt of seeing my name in print since I was little. I’ve pictured a book all of my own more times than you can imagine. But the thing with those sort of fantasies is that you never really believe they’ll come true. They’re like…fiction. Nice to loose yourself in for a while but not something in which you should invest too much happiness.
Suddenly I’ve realised that this long held elusive dream is actually achievable. Like not just “yeah I could probably pull that off” achievable but “HOLY ZARQUON’S SINGING FISH ALEX! This is a thing you might actually do!” Somehow I find that rather terrifying.
To better explain how I feel about this I’m going to hand you over to Miranda. Miranda is the protagonist of this thing I’m writing. She’s also the very best imaginary friend I could ever wish for. You should probably all know at this stage that I’m one of those people who talks about characters like they exist in the real world. More than once I’ve gone to tell an anecdote about “a friend” before realising I can’t do that because Miranda might be a friend but she isn’t real. People get institutionalised for behaving like that.
Having said that, Miranda is the reason this story might become a reality. She’s the first character I feel like I can write for that long. Also, as the previous paragraph shows, I desperately want her to be real. The only way I can do that is if I find a way to send her story out into the real world. When people read it she’ll exist to them as well. That’s my ultimate dream.
So here for your reading pleasure are 51 of those 25 000 plus words. I haven’t picked this part because its cryptic or (hopefully) intriguing or because it tells you absolutely nothing about the plot. I picked it because the way Miranda feels about Un-named Plot Point A is exactly how I feel about this thing. This thing that might just become a novel.
The whole thing feels like a house of cards, if I place anything on it (even importance) it might all come crashing down. I almost like it being a secret. A weird, impossible, improbable secret. Until I get further proof I reserve the right to believe I might have dreamt it.