Sweet Kate

My story, the one that has been taking over my mind, is precisely 12,382 words. This makes it the longest story I have ever written, the second longest being a mere 8,000 words (the Blasted Novel does not count because I wrote it with someone else, and so it was never wholely my story). It kind of scares me, because unless it becomes a novel, I don't know what to do with it (although, really, this is not the author talking, because the author would say that the story doesn't have to be marketable to be worth writing). I have also started to carry on conversations with the story, which is inexplicably male, although the story itself centers around two heroines. I am too far gone to save now, should you be inclined to rescue me from my madness, gentle reader. Do not worry overmuch about my condition, either, and let it console you that I am quite happy.

At the moment, I am just to the point of writing a terribly important scene, upon which rests the entire story, in one way or another. It scares me, in the same way that talking to people I don't know scares me, because I am dreadfully afraid I'll mess it up. So the story sits there, looking at me with reproachful eyes, and I try to work up the nerve to write it.

My story, the story which is consuming my life for no apparent reason, the bat story, has woken up. I don't know how else to put it. I was writing along merrily, and somewhere in the process I started being the one along for the ride, instead of the other way round. So far it seems content to trod happily along while I run after it, managing to (more or less) keep up. But it has a gleam in its eye, and this may not last. So, if I disappear under a flurry of type, wasting away until I am only a shadow, it will be because the story suddenly started galloping off, and I had to follow. I have to follow it wherever it goes. More than that, I shall follow it happily wherever it goes, and if I waste away to a shadow, I shall be a singularly happy shadow. All that to say, my story woke up last night.

In other story news (since that seems to be the only really interesting thing going on lately), I have found that once you name a character, they are never happy to be minor characters who never show up again. They start developing. Then you have someone named Kay who wants to do something and not just sit around for the remainder of the story, and a nasty person named Lance who should really give an explanation for why he was saddled with this name, and a red haired knight who insists on talking with a sort of Scottish accent because you saddled him with the name of Garth, and red hair. I should stop naming my characters, except its too late.