I finished a new draft of a key scene in my novella today. It’s one that I’ve come back to again and again, never feeling like the latest iteration hits the right notes. This new version seems solid, though. It’s good enough that my brain has moved on to thinking of other scenes.
Through the rewrites great and small, my word count has changed by a few hundred words. So by Write-A-Thon terms, I haven’t made much progress. I deliberately choose words as my metric because I’m trying to string enough of them together to finish this novella/novel, and that won’t happen without the accumulation of words into sentences, sentences into scenes.
It happens, though, that another part of my brain is working to make sure the parts that are written do what they ought. And that’s fine. I made good progress today by either measure. New words were written, old ones expunged. I think the exchanges were good ones.
All the while things move, always too slowly, forward.