the end.

Finished my NaNoWriMo novel draft. Final tally: 80,154.

I think it’s pretty good. I know it’s better now than it was around the 20k mark or so. I’m pretty sure I want to very heavily revise it, including possibly splitting the narrative POV, but that can wait. It’s all rough around the edges but there’s something in there to shine up and make pretty.

For now, though, it’s going to sit for a few weeks before I pick it back up and read it all the way through. I’ll miss it, I think. It’s the most I’ve ever written in a month so I’ve spent several hours a day with these characters so it will be odd to not have to follow them around tomorrow.

So, note for the ages: I finished the very first draft of THEREAFTER on Sunday, November 29th, 2009. We’ll see where it goes from here.

And since I shared my favorite Rapunzel pic found in researching stages earlier, here’s my favorite Little Red Riding Hood, by John Everett Millais:

millais_ridinghood

flax-golden tales: where the sidewalk doesn’t end

where the sidewalk

where the sidewalk doesn’t end

Would you walk me home?

Now, while there is still light? Before the afternoon turns to dusk? The light is fading quickly, so I’ll need an answer soon.

Would you walk me home along that line where autumn brushes against winter, and golden leaves melt into evergreen?

Where the sidewalk doesn’t end.

Where gloves do not require fingers to keep hands warm. (And you may hold my hand if you would like.)

It is a quiet kind of walk in this light, at this time.

I would appreciate the company.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

thanks.

Things I Am Thankful For in this, the last week of November in the year 2009

(an unnumbered list)

  • Kittens.
  • The husband, also known as the boy, also known as the bestest person I know.
  • Chocolate.
  • Lovely friends who live in my computer and listen to me babble about all manner of things via e-mail.
  • (Particularly Kaari, for the aforementioned e-mailing, and Carey, for the wonderment that has been flax-golden.)
  • New lovely people who live in my computer that I’ve virtually met this year and also, two of them make shiny things that you should buy: here & here.
  • NaNoWriMo in general and Chris Baty in particular, for giving me a framework in which to push my creative writing boundaries. (72k & counting.)
  • Azure Ray’s album Hold On Love, which is right music at right time right now.
  • BPAL‘s Now Winter Nights Enlarge, which is my new favorite scent even though it’s not really winter yet.
  • Punchdrunk & A.R.T.’s Sleep No More, which I get to see again next week.
  • The Absolute Write forums, particularly Purgatory, for helping me keep my sanity in this year of literary agent search crazy.
  • Mulled cider. Red Wine.
  • Fingerless gloves.
  • Everyone who reads this blog. Everyone. Seriously.
  • Lip balm.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone celebrating. Happy everything to everyone else. Have something with cinnamon in it for me.

flax-golden tales: angel meditation

angel meditation

angel meditation

Please do not disturb the angels in the garden.

You will find them sitting in the quiet corners.

Contemplating.

Listening to the world as it grows.

Most weekdays from late morning to mid-afternoon.

You may sit and watch them, if you wish.

Thinking your own thoughts alongside.

Please don’t take it personally if the angels do not notice you.

They get lost in their thoughts quite easily.

Angel thoughts are heavier than you might suppose.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

50k!

Well, 51,132. And I have at least 20, possibly 30 more before the end will roll around. Going to try to get it done before December.

Bucket remains unimpressed.

unimpressed bucket

flax-golden tales: november pumpkins

november pumpkins

november pumpkins

It is a sad thing to be a pumpkin after Hallowe’en.

No more light inside.

No more chasing away evil spirits.

No more revelry.

Only the crunch of leaves in fading light and the growing chill in the autumn air.

October past and gone.

Watching fallen comrades smashed to pieces, rotting on the ground.

Unable to close your eyes or look away.

It is a sad thing to be a pumpkin in November.

All they want you for is pie.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.