There is nothing more rewarding than a super-duper writing session, and I had two of those today. I don't like tooting my own horn, but I feel pretty darn good right now, so I had to write about it.
Since this morning, I conquered a HUGE (in importance, not necessarily in size) chapter in which there is a giant conflict between a few characters, and it was one that had taken me some time (and a few fingernails) to get through. I had been struggling with it, and had typed up a few different options for it.
Finally, the trees became the forest, and everything came into view. I was able to plow through the chapter, and I went over 60,000 words on my work in progress along the way. To stick with the forest metaphor, I'm not longer on the way into the woods, I know really, really feel like I'm on my way out. There are a few more important scenes and whatnot left to write, and things might get tinkered with in editing, but confidence right now is over the moon.
I'm not published. I don't know what it feels like to get 'The Call' from an agent or that first check from a publisher or any of that good stuff. But that's not why I started writing a novel.
I started writing this novel because I love writing. I continue writing this novel for the feelings of accomplishment like I have bubbling through me right now.
I was going to go to bed, but I just can't.