I'm stuck at 360. That's the number of pages I've written so far in my novel. Ideally, it'll be about where the finished product lands, but there's more to write still. I'm in the midst of the climactic chapter, and I'm stuck -- not for what to do next, but looking for time to write. The past week has been non-stop work or freelance (ok, so I watched West Wing on Wednesday too, but I transcribed an hour of interviews too).
Friday night, Maureen and I will watch a play in Hoboken: "You're a good man, Charlie Brown." A friend of ours is playing Lucy. I'm sure she'll be great, even if it is opening night. I hear Arthur Miller's very sick, so perhaps this is the way to recognize his greatness and his contributions to America. Better still would be a play of his. Alas, we're living in a crucible already, do we really need to watch one on stage?
Saturday, I'll be at Lafayette College, sitting on a panel about what liberal arts majors can do other than teach. I suspect that it will seem obvious to college students that a liberal arts major can write, but perhaps not. I'm very much looking forward to the panel and the day, but honestly, I'd rather be working on my novel. I want to hit 370 this weekend, or more. The end is near.
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