What does a 1,125 page manuscript need more than anything?

Apparently 92 more scenes. *facepalm*

It’s daunting, but when I’m done, I’ll be able to love the first part of the story as much as the ending.

Even if it doesn’t have nearly as many fires.

At age 35, it would be nice if I finally understood how time works. Instead, this is what it looks like when I try to take a late afternoon hike:

90 minutes before sunset: Intend to go hiking.

50 minutes before sunset: Actually leave to go hiking.

40 minutes before sunset: Arrive at destination and proceed to walk original intended distance, due to inflexibility.

10 minutes before sunset: Run to cover more ground until darkness makes this an unwise course of action.

Sometime after sunset on the line between dusk and night: Arrive back at car with no dire consequences having befallen me, thus reinforcing that I can get away with this, whether or not I actually like it.

I decided that my pie comes from a culture in which it is indecent to show one’s crust, and whipped-creamed it accordingly.

WORLDBUILDING.

A conversation I had tonight with my partner at the culmination of a week of bean-type soups and chilis:

Me: Dinner tomorrow?
Partner: Three-Bean Soup.
Me: Me: *swears at partner*
Partner: Three-Bean Soup, but instead of the broth–
Me: There’s a fourth bean?
Partner: I call at Three-Bean Surprise. The surprise is the fourth bean.

I finally hemmed a pair of pants that I’ve worn pinned up with safety pins for eight or nine years now.

I did an absolutely awful job, but at least I won’t have to feel the click-click of safety pins against my shoes next time I wear them. That will only happen with the other pairs of pants that have also been safety-pinned for five-plus years.

I carried Touching from a Distance around in my backpack for most of my senior year of high school, and even I don’t think this needs to exist.