You may remember me saying I would be crying by today. Well, I was right, but it's more because of the intense heat, high pollen levels, and large amount of open windows than any issues with Camp.
However, that brings me to one of the points that I don't like as much about writing a novel in a month -- the lack of feels other than 'I have to get this done'. I mean, giving myself a deadline is extremely necessary (I take years to finish novels when I don't have one), but I like meandering my way through a story line. I like taking a minute or a day or a week, whatever I feel like, to soak up the feels of a scene. I like to take time to plan my chacters' next move (by which I mean to let them plan it themselves).
But that's irrelevant, because working like that won't get anything wrote, and I can always catch up on feels while I'm reading it for editing purposes. It can just feel a little bit empty sometimes.
Other than my winging, though, it's going okay. I didn't hit my daily word count yesterday because it was absolutely boiling and I had to play at a concert (an annual one which was the first one in three years to A: be warm and B: be inside with hot stage-lights trained on the players), but I have been writing five per cent or so over most days anyway so I didn't go under the word count I was supposed to be at.
I can't think of anything else, I'm too busy watching the Tennis to think properly. I promise a better round up on the tenth.