It may well be the magic of the Christmas season, or it may be that my depression has, for the moment, gone into remission. But the story I'm working on for the current contest promises to be not only the most ambitious and complex story I've ever done, but the most ambitious and complex story that stands a chance of being completed. (I even have a tentative title: The Christmas Ivy Bloomed--a title with a double meaning in this story).

I am, as of last night, at the 3500-word mark, and the story will likely be over 10,000 before I get through. It helps that unlike most stories I've attempted over the years, I at least have an idea of what my major plot points are going to be, how it's going to end, and even what the last line of the story will be (thank you, K.T. Leone, for your advice on structure.)

I have an unusual way of working. I'll often start at the middle--or the climactic points in the story--and work forward and/or back, rather than start at the beginning and bull my way to the end. In the process, I've come up with a story very unlike the two possible story paths presented in my previous blog entry. Call it Scenario C. And despite the Christmas theme, I'm afraid the story will not be fluff.

Writing manuals always tell you that once you start writing, don't go back and revise until you're entirely finished with the first draft. I can't do that, unfortunately, and if I see an embarrassing bit of dialogue or an implausible storyline or event, I either revise, or shut down, afraid to move further. I have the feeling the latter is about to happen.

I'm running aground over simple things like this--the main character spends the morning of the last day before Christmas vacation at an ice rink with friends (they have a program for disabled skaters) because they had won a charity drawing. I have the character going back to school for the remainder of the afternoon, which probably doesn't make sense, as it's likely the child would just go home after that. But if that happens, a confrontation with a bully that's the lynchpin of the story can't happen. I can't say too much, but it's caused by an embarrassing Freudian slip the child makes in front of a playground full of kids.

It's times like this--when I'm trying to write a story with a certain amount of realism--when my lack of knowledge of how actual human beings behave in the real world truly becomes an obstacle. I've spent a large portion of my life by myself--not only was I not socialized female, I was barely socialized, period.

However, I'm amazed I got this far. Actually submitting the story for public scrutiny might make me so nervous I'll throw up, but up to now I've managed to make the words flow.

I can only hope it stays that way. I just want to finish at this point, because I've never finished--at least, any story longer than a thousand words. I want it to be good, of course, but it wouldn't help me to have a good story I couldn't complete.