On Writing & Storytelling: Breaking News! The Manuscript FINALLY Gets New Words! *

* Less than 500 words…but still, right?

After several weeks of little to no progress with Reunion: Coda – partly because the first half of the duology required quite a bit of revising, but mostly because I was stuck on how to begin Chapter 10, Scene Two – I finally broke the creative stalemate I was in and added the first “new words” to my manuscript.

As you know, I start my writing workday with a daily goal of 1,000 new words. If I remember correctly, Stephen King shoots for 2,000 words a day, so my own wordcount target is modest by comparison. And, as often happens in life, my mileage will vary: Sometimes I meet my quota, sometimes – if I’m lucky or if I’m particularly inspired – I’ll exceed it. And, more often than not, I must settle for an average of 500 words – the length of the classic “five-paragraph essay” from high school or college.

Well, even though I slept better last night than I have on previous occasions, I am still a bit tired and stressed out over the revisions to Reunion: A Story, the novella that is the first half of what is now the Reunion Duology. Those took me far longer to finish than I anticipated, and because I was often up until way past midnight on some occasions, the experience left me both physically and mentally exhausted.

So…today was one of those days where, even after a longer-than-usual rest break and much mental effort on my part, I wrote less than even that bare minimum of 500 words. 441 words, to be precise.

Since there are no spoilers here, I might as well share today’s writing in its entirety:

Professor James K. Garraty’s Office, Columbia University/Fayerweather Hall

5:15 PM, March 1, 2000

As I step into my office, the air hangs heavy with the scent of old books and a palpable sense of academic gravitas. Fayerweather Hall embraces me with its historic charm, and a surge of intellectual energy courses through my veins.

To the right, sturdy bookcases tower against the walls, crammed with volumes that hold the weight of history. They are my battlefield, my treasure trove of knowledge. Amongst the ranks of military history tomes, my three books stand tall and proud: Triumph in the Pacific, Lost Victory: Desert Storm 1991,and Uncertain Trumpets: Operation Market-Garden 1944. Their spines (except that of Uncertain Trumpets, which has only been out for six months), worn and weathered like battle scars, share the stage with other revered works, a testament to my lifelong pursuit of understanding.

The shelves reach for the heavens, an endless expanse of stories waiting to be unearthed. Sunlight filters through the windows, casting ethereal rays that illuminate the meticulously arranged rows of titles. Dust particles dance in the golden beams, hinting at the ancient tales they carry.

Behind the worn wooden desk, an organized chaos reigns. Piles of papers and notebooks teeter precariously, bearing the weight of my research and intellectual musings. The leather chair that cradles me, worn with time, has embraced countless historians before me, its armrests etched with their collective wisdom.

As I settle into the familiar seat, my gaze sweeps across the office, absorbing the artifacts and remnants of history that adorn the walls. Framed maps, battlefields frozen in ink, hang alongside photographs capturing the faces of those who shaped the past. A weathered globe, perched atop a steadfast bookcase, reminds me of the interconnectedness of our world and the vastness of human experience.

A soft, warm glow emanates from the brass desk lamp, casting its spell over the desk. Amidst scattered notes and reference books, my faithful computer hums with the promise of digital exploration. It is a bridge between old and new, a portal to expand the boundaries of historical inquiry.

Beyond the office walls, muffled voices mingle, a chorus of youthful enthusiasm echoing through the hallowed halls of Columbia University. Within these four walls, time seems to slow, allowing me to immerse myself in the depths of history, to traverse the corridors of the past with every turn of a page.

My office is a sanctuary, a testament to my unyielding passion for unraveling the tapestry of human events. Here, the world becomes my canvas, and I am the storyteller, weaving narratives that breathe life into forgotten heroes and lost battles.

Well, better a small victory than no victory at all, I always say.