Today I got halfway through the funeral scene, but even more significantly, I figured out the last missing piece of the end of my story. It just sort of came to me as I was looking through my Gypsy notebook, searching for details to fill in the funeral setting.
This week I wrote thirty pages! And I got the longhand from the week typed up as well. I see what needs to happen in the next couple of chapters, through the first act, and have a solid idea of how the whole thing will end, how all the subplots will come together and tie up, but really that’s it. No idea how to fill the second act of the book. I’m okay with simply knowing the end and having a few clear chapters to write. The rest will come. It always does.
As I typed in my pages this morning, that old friend, book joy, visited. I had not felt this way in a while. Excited about a story. I think it’s good. Really good plot, good writing, everything coming together in a totally satisfying way. Of course, whether I continue to feel this way or not depends on a lot of things, including how the next act goes.