A big hole where that little town used to be

So -- after the research, the plotting, the getting inside of characters' heads -- after all the figuring out and waiting and germinating -- the novel is MOVING.

How does it feel? Pretty much exactly like this:



Yup. I'm strapped in and can't jump free. It's moving so fast that I'm scared pantless the whole thing is going to blow up in my face and leave a huge crater and a bit of wispy detritus that I was under the delusion would turn into a novel. The words are coming out faster than I can type. I suspect this means something has gone very wrong, but I can't help it. The best I can do is keep typing while the novel whips from side to side careening down the curves.

Can't say much more right now because talking about writing would be like taking my hands off the wheel. And like the man says, it feels like 36 ton of-a detonated steel. So, yeah. Eighty-eights, good neighbors, I'm on a triple-digit ride. Holler in a short.