There is hope. And that is enough.

I went on a cleaning rampage instead of confronting writing the end of The Hierophant. I vacuumed; took down the recycling; cleaned my desk; cleaned the kitchen; cleaned the bathroom (mostly); hung a shelving thing and put a hook in the wall to hang my jewelry from; cleaned off the dining room table; did two loads of laundry- well, I still have a load of laundry in the dryer right now :p - and did not write a single word in that god damn draft. On the plus side, my sink (and counter, and stove, and other kitchen surafces) full of dirty dishes won't be getting in the way when I kick off National Novel Writing Month on Saturday!

Oi. I'm really screwed here, for two reasons: 1) I need to finish this novel before I start NaNoWriMo, for which I only have the vaguest idea anyway because I haven't had time to brainstorm as much as I'd have liked, and come 4-ish tomorrow I'm done. Meeting the ladies in Billsville- tattoos at 5pm sharp (haha- sharp, as in needles); and 2) I don't really know how it ends. I know what happens to the characters... but the details on the actual climax are a little fuzzy. I feel like the whole climax is pretty much the last five chapters of the book :/

Oh, sure, I could just write it with the same faith that I wrote the rest of the draft with- faith that the Universe will point me the right way, or the characters will take over when I'm leading them astray (hey that rhymes). But, no, that'd be the easy way out.

Heh. Last night, Trebor and Ana staged a coup.

Arrrrg I'm gonna finish this thing, damn it! 'Nuff of this insecurity B.S. Universe, show me the way!