I dreamed about the book last night. I think that’s a good sign, though to be honest I can’t really remember exactly what the dream was. That’s how dreaming is for me, mostly—I wake up with the memory of having dreamed, feeling a lingering aura for maybe a few minutes, a snippet of it in my mind and the basic feel of it in the air around me.
Yesterday was a workmanlike day. I feel like I should have had a better word total, but it is what it is. I’m nearing 13,000 words for the total, so I suppose I shouldn’t be cranky.
Thing is, as I told Lisa (the wife/copy editor) last night at dinner, I’m having fun now and that hasn’t really been the case over most of the summer. Or spring, for that matter.
The problem seems to be that I’ve been working on the wrong project. All summer long I’ve been trying to crush the final book of the Stealing the Sun series, and it seems that this book is just not ready to come out of me. I say that because as soon as I sit down to write other projects, words come along. Sometimes they flow quickly and other times not so rapid, but sill I find myself pretty pleased at the end of the day. Book seven of STS will come along when it’s ready, I suppose, and not a moment earlier.
I like this, though. I’m enjoying being so absorbed in a story that it carries over into the rest of the day, or that the characters start to take positions on whatever else you might be doing—that I hear a quip from one or the other as I’m taking a walk or going to a store.
And, yeah, I like waking up with a story floating around in those first gray moments of the morning.