First the good news. I'm working on THE chapter. The official English-y term for it is "the climax." Basically, everything comes together in these pages, and 99% of the conflict gets resolved. Today, Sam took two naps, which meant that I got several hours of uninterrupted writing time.
Now the bad news. My house looks like a bomb hit it. My office looks like ground zero. I am literally writing my novel while peering over a stack of books that sit six inches high on my desk. Why is this, you ask? Well, partially, it's because I am too busy getting in a writing groove to organize. But it partially has to do with the state of things around the house in general.
We're in the process of moving Sam out of his light green nursery--which I feel in no way reflects his fiery, take-no-prisoners personality--and moving him and all his furniture into another bedroom that we've recently painted a very bright yellow. We're decorating the room with pirates for my little adventurer, and it should suit him much better than the babyish teddy bears and stars in his old room. The nursery is going to stay a nursery for John, but I've given the bears and stars the heave-ho. I haven't found bedding to replace it yet, but it's going to be something that 1) matches the ultra-modern cappuchino colored furniture we bought him and 2) is a theme a self-respecting toddler will be able to live with.
Besides that fun, it's also been consignment sale season, which has required an excruciating amount of time devoted to sorting through baby clothes, hanging baby clothes, and tagging baby clothes. There are clothes all over the house without a home because we haven't made the official switch yet from the green room to the yellow one, and I'm not entirely sure where to put everything.
And (I swear this is the last thing), since I am incapable of doing anything halfway, and that includes destroying any organizational system in my path, we also donated the bookcases that housed several decades worth of book collecting, and now I have books in bins everywhere. Tom promises me that he will be putting up some bookshelves immenantly, but I'm not holding my breath. We've got projects galore all over the house and not enough time to finish them.
Which seems to be the state of my writing lately too. I am trying to shut it all out and finish this novel. I am so close I can practically taste the ink on the last page. Putting this off is no longer an option. I have to figure out a way to get this book written anyway.