This current spurt makes up for several weeks of goofing off. I can't explain why it happened, but complaining about the unpublished writers' lot in life seemed to do the trick. And it's still working. I think I'll probably finish about the same amount this week. And then that will be it for a while - R & R time before girding up for the next stage.
I am approaching a mini-climax in the book - the fulcrum from which the final half of the book springs. Almost like a Book One and Book Two arrangement, the first - and its emphasis on the 1940s - is reaching its critical point. It's exciting for me to see where it's going, and I'm back to that restless, don't-want-to-leave-it stage, hating to turn off the computer at night. This can't last, or I'd burn out before the end. But "Book One" - if we can call it that - will be more or less finished this week.
As an aside, Melissa will understand this: I had such a good weep over a section of it yesterday. I always figure that's a good indicator for the quality of the story, but it could also be just a reflection of my own intense involvement in it. I must ask my friend in Oz if she wept over the same bits.
I'm going to feel a bit of a fool if she didn't.
Post script: Just received a rejection on one of the partials. Thought you might like to read a snippet, because it's not negative, really.
"You have a great imagination - I love the premise - and you're a good writer, but I'm sad to say that I just wasn't passionate enough about this to ask to see more. I wish I could offer constructive suggestions, but I thought the dialogue was fine, the characters well-crafted, and the plot well-conceived. I think it's the kind of thing that really is subjective - why some people adore the book on the top of the NYTimes bestseller list, and others don't."
If we're going to be rejected, they should look like this, I think.