Sunday is the last day of work this draft. Three scenes left, one pure action, one a mix of action and dialog, the last a narrative driven cliff hanger.

As for today’s session, I recall the events like this: I sat down; I wrote; eight hours later, sixteen hundred new words filled the pages. If every day went like this, the books could write themselves. The odds of that are unlikely. Output ebbs and flows, bowing to no manipulations of mine. It’s just nice after months of grinding through five hundred words a day to finish on a high note. An added plus side to the productivity boost, the past week has definitely been the most fun I’ve had writing. So good, the messed up sleep schedule doesn’t matter.