I don't feel like doing this anymore

But the show must go on, right?

Word Autosummary at 25,000 words

Finally, Kate thought, a professional. The chair rotated to face her, revealing a man.
Kate asked. Kate shook her head. This man looked and sounded nothing like the man she had met. Kate gasped, “Mr. Polrink!”
The man smiled. The man stood and extended his hand. Kate asked.
“A test!” exclaimed Kate.
“Not your men? Pinkerton asked.
Kate started. Kate jumped up form her chair. Kate blushed. Kate asked.
You are angry with the man.”
Kate wondered. Kate accompanied Pinkerton on a walk through the city. Pinkerton asked. Presently, two men walked towards where Kate and Pinkerton sat. One man wore Italian leather shoes. Pinkerton nodded. “That is very good, Kate. Kate asked. Pinkerton paused. “Cousin Mary!”
“Ah, Cousin William,” Kate said. Roth said, stepping back to admire Kate.
Kate said. Kate rolled her eyes in disgust. Seated and alone, Kate hissed at the man.
Dear Mr. Pinkerton,

Kate

“Mr. Abernathy,” Kate said. Abernathy took Kate’s hand and kissed it lightly. Kate said.
Abernathy smiled. Abernathy asked.
“Mr. Abernathy!” exclaimed Kate.
Abernathy asked.
Kate started for the door, but Abernathy stopped her. Abernathy opened the door slightly. “Mr. Abernathy,” said the man, hurriedly. Abernathy closed the door and turned to Kate.
Kate watched the man leave, waited a few minutes and then slipped out the door. “What do you know about an Italian man named Ferrandini?”
Dear Mr. Pinkerton,

“You are too cautious, old man. “Barley,” said Kate. The young man nodded and walked to the door. Kate asked.
Kate asked.
“I’m sorry if I interrupted your conversation earlier,” Kate offered.
Kate smiled. “I do,” Kate said. “Oh,” said Kate, studying her reflection. Dear Mr. Pinkerton,

Kate

The men erupted in applause again, shouting huzzahs. “Thank you,” Lincoln said. “Good night, Mr. Lincoln!” Lincoln stifled a laugh. The man on the right, Lincoln recognized. Lincoln didn’t know the man well, but knew of him.
“You are John Bell,” Lincoln replied. Lincoln asked.
“These are trying times, Mr. Lincoln. Lincoln shook his head. Lincoln considered this. “Sir?” “Mr. Lincoln,” Konigmacher started. Lincoln asked.
Dubois asked.
“Cut the man some slack, Abe,” Dubois said. Dubois scoffed. “No,” Lincoln decided. Lincoln thought on this. Dubois laughed. “Mr. Lincoln!” she shouted. Lincoln laughed uproariously, nearly shaking the house. Lincoln playfully swatted Mary’s rear. “You are a naughty man, Mr. Lincoln,” Mary said coquettishly. Mary smiled. The man seemed even more anxious than Dubois to reach the President. As the man passed Dubois, he realized that the man was an actor of some talent and renown though he still could not remember the man’s name. “Good day, sir,” Dubois said, tipping his hat to the man.
The man turned back to face Dubois. “Not agreeable at all!” exclaimed the man. Sir! “…Mr. Lincoln amongst your friends?” Dubois. Lincoln chuckled. Thank you, young man,” said Lincoln.
Just get the man up. “Of course,” said Lincoln. “Untrained militias,” Lincoln mused.
Right, right.”
“Yeah, totally, man. “Dear Mr. President,
Jesse K. Dubois.”

Jesse Dubois.”

Word 25,000

The halfway point!

"engage"

Flying Olives

A wonderful photo. Yeah. Walked in, took off my coat, took picture. 3AM.

Wrote 1200 words on unlined laser paper at work. Someone -- I'm not naming names -- threw an olive at me while I was doing this. It bounced off the table and landed in my left sleeve. Amazing throw, but I hate olives passionately, so it was an unpleasant experience.

I'm losing my sense of humor about all this.... Need to find it again.

First Word Pad

Did my first real word padding of the year. I don't f eel guilty.

From there, they proceeded into the kitchen where the house staff was busy preparing the evening’s meal of roast goose, turkey confit, grilled asparagus, glazed yams, Western omelet fritters, and pulled polenta with raddichio-gorgonzola bruchetta.

I mean, that's not egregious by any stretch of the imagination.

Baltimore Plot

Working out Kate's investigation into the Baltimore plot. Haven't written about Lincoln since Saturday, which is weird as I'd really felt like I was bonding with the man somehow. Plus, so many Lincoln references were popping up all the time -- Fallout 3, The Simpsons, Obama's speech -- that I felt like I was really onto something. Some day I will be forced to meld the two parts of this novel into one cohesive thing. I had really planned on focusing on Booth and Dubois, but that has fallen by the wayside as well. Funny that when you plan something to be a story that jumps around from time to time with separate chunks of stories, it falls apart into a non-cohesive mess. Who woulda thunk it?

Kate's cool though, and I enjoy writing about her and Pinkerton. Have I said that already? I must have done. I somehow write 1800 words in a short period of time. Count now stands at 20,488, which is 2162 words ahead of pace and an average of 1863 words a day. Not too shabby. Two years ago, I was at 26,300 words, averaging 2391 words a day.

But we're 40.98% of the way there. Go us!

Word 20,000

"that"

Holy crap, it's the 10th

A scary-ish moment today when I realized it was Nov 10 and my word count was dangerously close to being the answer to the calculation m * d where m = the minimum daily word count needed to hit 50,000 by the end of the month (1666) and d = the current date. That's psychologically very very bad for me, because I figure the only way I'm going to get through this is by staying well ahead of the minimum pace. I figure if I rock out some more words today (already at 600) and can get anywhere close to yesterday's output, I'll get back to my ahead of schedule schedule. And that will be a good thing.

A turning point!

I also have gray t-shirts (thanks to Tony!)

Last night I was reading about The Baltimore Plot and found some very interesting things concerning the Pinkerton Agency - specifically about Kate Warne, Pinkerton's first female operative. Decided to write about the Baltimore Plot a little bit but held onto it as a topic for writing on today at work.

Glad I did -- today I handwrote 2500 words about Warne and a fictitious first meeting between her and Pinkerton in a scene directly out of a heist/spy film. It's not the greatest writing, I don't think, since action-adventure is not my real strong suit, but I am buoyed by the idea that I actually have a basis for this book. Not sure how much reworking I'm going to do to make it all flow properly -- need to interleave scenes of her with scenes of Lincoln & co. BUT, it's all very positive and cool. My hand/arm is tired.

And I found this incredibly cool photo of Pinkerton, Lincoln and a Union officer named McClerndon. It's an amazingly crisp and clear photo and I dig it very much:

I especially like how Pinkerton looks like such a weasel (I'm naturally predisposed to hate him due to Deadwood poisoning the well) and how there's a slight blur on Lincoln's face....

No excerpt from this, as it's a huge continuous chunk that doesn't have any natural breaks. What? Okay. If you insist. Here's a short snippet:

“Please don’t be afraid. I would very much like to speak with you,” the man said. After a pause, he added, “Kate Warne.”
“How?” Kate asked. “How do you know my name?”
“You have not yet figured it out?” the man asked. “Why, it was I who contacted you in the first place. Do you not recognize me?”
Kate shook her head. This man looked and sounded nothing like the man she had met. It wasn’t possible.
“Perhaps you would know me,” said the man, “if I had a pencil-thin moustache, eyeglasses, a top hat, stood three inches taller, wore a Scottish dancing costume, and spoke like this.” The man’s voice raised to a high-pitched squeak.
Kate gasped, “Mr. Polrink!”
The man smiled. “Of course, Polrink is not my real name, just as that was not my voice, costume, height, hat, glasses, or moustache. Just as Kate Warne is not your true name. Disguises and aliases are a natural and frequent occurrence in our line of work.”
“And what exactly is your line of work, Mr….?”
The man stood and extended his hand. “Pinkerton,” he said. “My name is Allan Pinkerton.”