The finish line is in sight.
The finish line is in sight.

The sun has yet to rise its weary head over the horizon, and here I am blogging. Billy Wilder’s masterpiece “Witness for the Prosecution” is playing in the background of the darkened room. I am dressed but hardly fit for the world. The first feelers of a headache have already made their presence known. I am truly tired but oh-so ready to begin that final leg of my writing marathon.

So where do we stand as I strap on my running shoes for today’s last sprint? Let’s start by checking the Ticker to Madness. As of 6:30am on deadline day, the short story which requires a minimum 5k word count stands at…

7,477 words!

Who knew we’d ever get to such a comfortable above 5k cushion just a few short days ago during the pruning frenzies? Thank you for all your faith through that.

Last night, I was able to put “The End” to the story. All the scenes are written, although a few substantial ones need the action put to the dialogue. You know, the “he said” and “he laughed” bits that essentially costume the scenes. Several hours of work there, I’m afraid.

Grammatical, fact-checking and then the hateful formatting issues will then need to be addressed. Another handful of hours gone.

There still is no title but I’m sure that will come to me while I polish and shine.

You’ll be thrilled to know that John Doe, the poor unnamed bastard, finally has a first name! The last name I’m still working on. I’ll be monogramming a few sweaters this afternoon for the lad when that decision has been made.

Then the final hurdle to jump will be the question: Do I like the story enough to submit it? Is this good enough to attach the Chloe Stowe name to? (yes, I’m suffering from delusions of trademark this morning, lol) Unfortunately, those answers won’t come until I’m done –I’m guessing early evening.

So, there we are on deadline day.

Leroy, my sturdy creature of Doubt, slept well on the couch last night. The fact that he didn’t curl up on the bed with me while I slept I take as a significant victory.

The grandfather clock “tic-tic-tic”ing down my neck is frustrated with me. I’m not paying the handsy boy enough attention, I’m afraid. Pity, that.

The specter of Failure has arrived in town I’ve been told. He nears on his fiery steed but has a few stops to make before striking up our old, cherished flame.

Is that everyone? I believe it is. So there can be no further delay.

The finish line is in sight, my friends! One final push and we’ll be there. Wish me luck!

Until this evening…


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