Friday, July 19, 2002
Belatedly, I'm becoming aware of how monotonous these posts must be. There are times I want to ask, "Is anyone even reading this foolishness?" (I guess I just did. Ask, that is.) Today's numbers, like the stock report on frelling CNN. So maybe, if I break it down into pages and a total word count, that would help. At the moment, the ms. of Low Red Moon stands at 93,613 wds., which comes out to 363 double-spaced typescript pages (in New Courier, 12 pt.). In print, that would come out to about 228 printed pages, if the book's a trade paperback. If it's a regular mass-market paperback, that's about 325 printed pages. These are, of course, very rough estimates. When complete, this ms. will probably weigh in at about 140,000 wds. and most likely result in a trade paperback somewhere in the neighborhood of 300 pages, give or take. The good news is, that means I can see the light at the end of this particular tunnel. The bad news is, novelists don't get paid by the word.
Anyway, yesterday I wrote 1,286 wds. in two hours. I'm really moving fast now; I just wish I had more stamina. It seems I'm only good for so many wds. per day, regardless of how quickly or slowly I write them. I seem to max out around 1,500, and average about 1,000. Also, last night I did another 578 wds. on "The Drowned Geologist," which is a major shift, going from Low Red Moon, as it's set in 1897 and is being written in epistolary form, as a single letter. This does give it the distinction of being the very first story (out of about 55) that I've ever written in first person narrative.
It's hot as bloody hell in Birmingham. And it's only going to get hotter. Fortunately, I leave the apartment so infrequently. Unfortunately, there's that bit about my office being so damned hot. I have to crank the AC down to 60F for a couple of hours to get it bearable in here, which turns the rest of the apartment into a deep freeze.
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