Is it just me, or do I hear "Fanfare for the Common Man" ringing out already?
Must be me; it's another 14 hours and 45 minutes to the lighting of the torch.
55,017 by my processor's count--in 25 days. And a lot of filling in to do before we have the first glorious imperfect draft. < goosebumps >
Here's 55 for the hell of it--not an excerpt, just a bitty bit.
I was working on a story, beads of blood forming on my forehead. My muse slouched in, dropped into a chair. He gestured with the apple in his hand. "Vat's wrong?"
"I've picked all the low-hanging fruit."
He took out his boot knife, cut off a slice. "Eventually, sveethott," he said, "Ees all low-hengink fruit."