Chapters, that is.
I’d been somewhat lamenting my lack of time to work on my novel rewrite through the months of September and October, and I sort of vowed to myself that I’d make November my NaNoReWriMo (National Novel Re-Write Month). It didn’t start off well, but then, all of a sudden, I tackled the sucker and got two really difficult, important scenes done in two days.
Then I topped it off with the final scene in Chapter 46.
According to my outline, I have six chapters left. (If you’re doing the math, that tells you I have 52 chapters planned.) I may end up splitting a couple of the longer chapters up into smaller chunks later on, but it feels good – and a little scary – to see the distant finish line.
Why scary? Well, let me put this into perspective. I started writing this book when I was in 7th grade. That’s write, at the tender age of 13. I’m not so full of myself that I’m unable to openly admit that, though I’ve always been a more-than-decent writer, the first version of my book sucked in its sea of melodrama and imitative style. But over the years, I’ve edited and added and it’s slowly gotten better. And once I sat down in 2006 to really take a whack at rewriting from scratch – so necessary! – I’ve been pleased with the results overall. Do I need to do some major editing? Absolutely. And I’m praying for a fresh pair of eyes – a willing and bipartisan friend or family member – to do a beta read.
But let’s just do a little more math, shall we? I’m 30 years old. I’ve been working on this book, in some form or another, since I was 13.
That’s 17 years with this novel.
It’s my baby.
You can see how scary it can be to realize that in six not-so-short chapters, it’ll be fully grown and ready to leave the nest.
Provided I can find an agent willing to nurture it along the rest of the way….