Final word count: 80,309. Final chapter count: 34. Final page count (8.5×11, 12-point Tmes New Roman font, double-spaced): 243. But it’s not about the length: it’s about the content.
And honestly, I’m going to admit that I’m not completely satisfied with the last chapter, and think I may have rushed through it a little bit. I feel like the story’s whole purpose wasn’t even addressed in the final moments of Melanie’s narration. But I have a thousand other things to do, and if and when there comes a time when I find myself bored and looking for a task, I will go back and add in what I must. But if I don’t get these essays done and proofed, I’m not going to college. And that’s a problem.
I won’t start the next book, Mirror Image, until after finals. Because finals are the end of May’s craziness. We won’t even think about the ACT in June just yet. Because first (obviously) comes these last seven scholarships, which I am determined to get out this week, even though they’re not due until April 30th (and one due on May 7th). I need to get them off of my floor, out of my head, and into the hands of the nice people who should continue being nice and give me some money.
I think AP tests are next. That should be fun to study for, right? Wrong. Career research presentation. NHS induction ceremony (at which I finally get my cords, thank you very much), some wrap-up thing for Tri-M I’m sure they’re going to schedule without my consent, voice recital, and finals. And you would think I could do it all, and I will, but something’s going to have to go. Thankfully, it won’t be this novel. Because I’m finished. Maybe I’ll just have to give up sleeping. Because I also have to pull my two B’s up to A’s before the end of the semester, or all my hopes and dreams of starting GPA fresh will be worthless.
I can’t stop posting daily blogs until April is over, because I’m challenging myself to do twelve more days of constantly boring you with my boring life. But I can’t promise another Frenzy next month, because my life is on the line here. I really shouldn’t have spent all this time writing an 80,000 word novel, yet I did. So it’s time to play catch-up, and nobody’s going to help me. I’m on my own, here.
If I tried to make a list of all the things I have to get done when we get back from church, I might explode, and you might explode, and this ongoing theme of people exploding is really starting to worry me a little. So I’m just going to go spend some time with Jesus, and then I’m going to come home. And when I come home, I won’t just think about all the stuff I have to do, I’m going to do it. Starting with writing all these essays about how awesome I am. Why do they make us talk about ourselves like we’re royalty? I don’t get it.
Also, I’m not that awesome. Ask anyone.