Day 17 (Word Count: 25,307)

I can't seem to find a rhythm to the writing this time out. Too many things going on in life, too much laziness keeping me from getting onto it during the late-night hours I used to write in. But when I am getting into it, it's going well. I'm more than halfway there (at a few days past when I should have arrived there), and much busy time lies ahead, what with Kathie's visit and our Thanksgiving extravaganza coming up, as well as the end of the semester.

As last time, I am finding this journey to be one of discovery (how cliche of me!)—in this case, I'm finding out that I can write for longer periods and more prolifically than last time. Both of them confirm for me that I can, in fact, write, which I kind of knew and which, nonetheless, I have to be reminded of pretty constantly.

I'm a little scared, though, because I do feel called to this. It's endlessly exciting, of course, but I don't know what form it's supposed to take. That I can wait on, and I'm trying to look at it as an adventure (and succeeding most of the time), but it still feels dangerous, like I've leapt out of a plane and am plummeting toward the ground, not quite positive when I'm supposed to pull the ripcord or even that it's a parachute back there. I do know that I'd like to learn how to write a novel from start to finish—all this jumping about means that, like last time, I have to go back and try to piece the bits together, which is essentially like writing the thing twice. Maybe that comes with practice, or at least more forethought than I've given the thing.

Your continued prayers and thoughts are appreciated. I'm off to go see Wycherly's The Country Wife at CSUSB with my 101 Honors class. There's nothing like a seventeenth-century Restoration comedy to cap off your Friday. I'm sure my students will agree.