I'm past the half-way mark, well past it. I've concluded Act I and barreled straight into Act II. My characters urge me forward. I'm typing so fast these days that my hands stumble over words I've typed thousands of times, like a clumsy sprinter. I can almost see the finish line - just a spec in the distance, getting closer every second.
It's thrilling, heady stuff. I've just come out of another 'absorb phase' and dove right into writing, not even stopping to take a breath. It's that fear I talked about before; the one that drives me forward to get as much done as possible while the fire still boils in my blood, still pushes my fingers across the keyboard so fast I actually feel winded.
I'm not fumbling around for words; they come to me almost as if they had formed in some other time or place. I feel like I'm transcribing memory, taking dictation for something I've felt and seen before. It's strange, but maybe I have. I've been dreaming my story, shaping the world so it's mapped and laid bare when time to write.
I get into these manic, compulsive writing phases and it starts to feel like maybe I can finish this book. It's inevitable, it's all there in my head. Maybe I will finish by summer. Maybe I"ll finish in a few weeks. If only I can maintain this efficiency and motivation, this compulsive drive. If only I can keep this fire going, find a way to fan the flames. I don't want another absorb phase; I've had enough of those. I want to keep going onward until the story ends.
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