Yesterday was Day Nine of working on the new novel. About seven last night, just shy of 54,000 words, I typed The End. Of course, now I'll spend a lot of time revising, over and over, but I am still amazed at the fact I wrote a novel in nine days. A novel with characters that I have come to love despite only spending a week with them. ( And believe me, there are characters I spent a few years with and still can't stand.) Sunday was my biggest day, with the word tally being just under 10,000 after about nine hours of writing. My shoulders were knots of steel by Sunday night. So let me put this in perspective: Typically, it takes me anywhere from six to nine months to a year to write 50,000 words. I aim for 1,000 a day, but often do not come close to that. Which is what makes this nine day writing frenzy so absolutely out of character for me. I procrastinate. I am easily distracted by television, snacks, and books written by other people. I like to take naps. But this story just wouldn't let me go. I couldn't sleep at night because the voices were yelling out the scenes in my head. There were times when I felt the thing was writing itself and I couldn't type fast enough to keep up. (Another thing about me? Crappy typist.Horrible.) I don't know what it is about this story, but it just wanted to be told, I guess. Whether or not it ever ends up on a bookshelf remains to be seen, but I will be sure to let you know. For now, I'm hoping the voices are silenced.