My Book Just Turned Quintuple Digits

I couldn’t help myself.

Maybe it’s my mild OCD—or so I’m told that I may have mild OCD, but my belief is that it's probably more of a mild neurosis—or just morbid curiosity, but I had to check my word total.

After sitting on about 800 words that constituted the beginning of a potential book for several months, I’ve actually made some progress lately. This spurt of writing was more than likely brought about by Ashley Schwellenbach, whose borderline psychotic writing regimen—in which she polished off more than 120,000 words over the course of a summer—finally made me realize that to write a book, I might actually have to sit down and … you know … write.

So little by little, I’ve been vomiting words onto the page, with the hope that I’ll be able to spit out this idea that’s been festering somewhere in the wrinkles of my cerebellum for the past five years. And I’ve got profoundly nerdy plans still ahead, the most nerdy of which is to get a whiteboard and create a gigantic word-count thermometer illustration.

Jerry Lewis, eat your heart out.

Maybe it’s unwise to start counting my proverbial hens before they've hatched, but by god if I can’t help peak at how much “book” I have so far. The ground total so far is a whopping—drum roll please—10,284 words.

Are they good words? Not right now, and who knows how much editing I’ll have ahead of me (my guess is somewhere in the realm of a metric fuck ton). Still, I’ve cracked quintuple digits. That’s one-fifth the size of a small novel, and though I expect to go beyond the minimum 50,000 word marker, being able to reach a noticeable fraction is sort of astounding.

And here are the last few paragraphs (pardon the roughness). 

“God damnit! What? What do you want me to do? What am I supposed to do? Just tell me. God damnit. God damn you! I don’t understand.”
“Adam … you just have to let go. Let it all go numb. Just let it go numb for a while. You’ll be fine. I promise.”
Adam could feel his body growing lighter. He couldn’t understand what Elaine was saying, but he knew what she wanted. He gazed intently at her lips fluttering one last time.
“Let it go. …”
His shoulders were the first to go. The weight began to slide out of them and his back slowly lifted away from the grass