I don't even

I don't know how this happened.

I've been keeping track of the days, sure. It's been 231 consecutive days that I've written. On January 21, per my random, self-imposed deadline, I finished the first draft of the book I'd been working on for TWO YEARS (and for the first 82 consecutive writing days). Next day, I started the sequel, with a goal of having a first draft of it by July 17.

Every time I did the math (based on word counts in this draft compared to word counts of the first book), it worked out. I was going to get it done in time. Maybe even early.

And then life started getting in the way. I still wrote every day, but I was exhausted. I wasn't writing as much. I was letting myself off easy (or, you know, sleeping). I've been goingoingoing with lots of derby stuff (CRAP. I just remembered I didn't prep the evals for this Saturday's bout like I'd planned to do tonight) and work being nuts and other obligations to family and friends.

The last four work days have sucked tremendously, and have taught me that there really are a lot of incredibly dumb people out there in the world.

But today? Today I wrote about 1500 words. And I finished the chapter I was working on.

It's day 231, less than five months since I started this book, still nearly a month til my self-imposed deadline, and I HAVE ONE MORE CHAPTER TO WRITE.

Wow. Just wow.