Finish line

Well, that little image of the guy crossing the finish line that I posted earlier today represents the end of National Novel Writing Month, although the deadline is actually at midnight tonight. As I mentioned before, I passed the 50,000 word goal on November 18. I continue to tinker with the manuscript, however, and at the moment it stands at 56,158 words. 

When I am able to settle down in Madison -- in our "deluxe apartment in the sky" -- to final editing and all that jazz, I am aiming for a length of about 70,000 words. I could develop some minor things more fully, but I think keeping things clean and simple will work better for this particular book. My vision for it is that the boy with wings flies in and flies out. It is supposed to be a bit of a surreal flash, and the narrator's rambling style provides plenty of other stuff. The basic story will be tied up but loose ends are part of the deal.

The real finish line that I crossed today was my part of the library's NaNoWriMo effort. It was a bit frozen-rainy out when I left the house for the library, so I walked carefully across that finish line instead of running.The library project ended (mostly) at 11:30 when I packed up my computer and locked the door to the room that the other participants and I had been using this month. I have asked the participants to let me know their final word count by Wednesday. I will send the final group word count in a final email to everyone, thanking them  for their interest and support and providing some links to sites that can help them take their projects further if they wish to do so. And that will be that.

SPOILER ALERT: The next section is the [unedited] end of the novel. Your choice.

“If you could see us now, Miss Missouri,” I said, tearing up.

LuNella must have heard me. She leaned toward me and whispered, “She probably can, you know.”

I didn’t really believe that, not the way LuNella meant it. But it was a nice idea. I nodded at her, reached into my pocket and rubbed my ten-year coin.

Baptist weddings don’t take long. It seemed just a minute later Hank, Jr. was lifting Katie’s veil and kissing her. Only then did I notice that there were small white feathers woven into the crown of roses in her hair.

People applauded and I think I heard a cheer or two from the back where the groom’s buddies sat, punching one another in the arm and congratulating themselves on still being free.

The organist struck up something traditional and the newlyweds waited for the ushers to lead the families and friends outside, where other friends handed out small net bags filled with white confetti and tied with white ribbons. Finally Katie and Hank came through the doors and cheers erupted again as confetti filled the air. Some of it landed on my sleeve, and as I shook it off, I noticed that the small bits of paper were not cut into squares or circles or hearts. Each one was a tiny white feather. I looked sharply at Katie, but she was facing the other direction.

The couple walked down the steps to a waiting limousine that would take them to the reception at the club. As Hank held the door for his bride, I saw her look up and pause.

I could swear I heard the sound of wings, but when I looked up into the sun, I didn’t see anything.

Katie caught my eye and smiled crookedly, raising an eyebrow.

She held out her hand to help Hank into the limo and they rode away.