I'm now about 77k words into my major revision and the End Is In Sight. It's looking like it'll end up about 85-90k. But here's the weird thing. I've got a lot of distractions at the moment; all of the family have been home for the past fortnight so never a minute's peace. But in spite of that I've managed to rattle through between 1000 and 2000 words a day. I've never been more motivated because I really want to get this puppy finished if only so I can lay down in a dark room and never type another word. But the more I really want it finished, the harder it seems to be to get down to it. I've noticed this before. The End becomes one magnet and I become the other, mutually repelling each other.
I don't understand this. But over the last two days I've cleaned and reorganised my kitchen - for the first time in six years - so something drastic is obviously going on. I suppose finishing it means I have to send it out and perhaps I'm happier in limbo, wondering what Might Have Been?
Ah well. I'm not about to succumb to this tendency, you'll be relieved to hear. It just makes the process that bit harder.