As I was writing the other day, passing the 125 page mark of the novel I began early last month, it occurred to me that though I felt I'd just started, I was actually nearing the end. It was kind of an unexpected realization. Suddenly I was forced with the task of sitting down and putting all the remaining pieces in their places.
The scenes ahead were blurry in my mind. I could see them in disconnected clips, playing in endless loops that moved in and out of each other so that the film was always a little muddled. But as I continued to scratch out notes and forge them together one block at a time, the rest of the movie began to play clearly in my head.
I frantically jotted it all down with a pen that was slowly losing ink as the images and dialogue streamed along. Today when I sat down to write the first remaining chapter, the pages came quickly. Now I expect everything to fade to black right on schedule. A lovely feeling...until the second draft when I'll be forced to bring the picture clearer into focus. But I'm going to worry about that when the time comes. For now, I'm going with the groove.