Writing as fast as I can for an imaginary deadline

Here I go  again. Constructing an imaginary deadline no one but me knows exists.

The last time I did this, back in March, I ended up with massive headaches and a stiff neck.

What was I doing?

Trying to force my way through the second draft of Chasing Arctic Fire, the sequel to Chasing Tropical Ice, which was published in 2025.

Why was I doing this?

Because I was leaving for a six-week adventure in southern Spain and Morocco, and some unreasonable part of me had decided the draft needed to be finished before I left.

What happened?

I didn’t meet the deadline.

The characters wouldn’t cooperate. The plot fell apart. My body said, No. Not happening.

So I stopped.

And I went on my amazing journey.

Along the way, characters came to me in my sleep and told me what they wanted. The plot shape-shifted. I let go of trying to control it all.

Instead, I wandered narrow cobblestone streets. I paused in small churches and grand cathedrals. I got lost in the alleyways of the souks. I

Camels in the Sahara

marveled at the sights and sounds and smells of places completely foreign to me. I rode a camel in the desert. I ate roasted goat. (You can read more about this in Behind the Scenes on substack.)

I came home.

And now I’m doing it again.

I have fourteen chapters revised and polished. I have sixteen more to go, and they are in varying stages of almost ready to not even remotely there. Still, I am pushing toward a goal of August 1.

Why?

Because one of my most loyal fans — I actually do have some! — told me, “I’m over 80 years old, and you need to hurry along so I can read it before I die!”

Talk about pressure.

But then there’s the reality that I am 75 years old myself, and the end is much nearer than the beginning was. I want to finish this book and the next one before I die, too.

Why?

As my mother might have said, “Why not? What else do you have to do?”

The story is coming along. There are still mysteries I have to resolve. Hanging plot threads that refuse to be neatly knitted into the whole. Characters who continue to behave as if they are in charge.

Which, apparently, they are.

But there is progress.

And now I have an ergonomic lap desk, so my neck is no longer torqued into a position worthy of the Spanish Inquisition.

Will I make the August 1 deadline?

Ojalá.

Maybe.

We’ll see.

Hang in there with me, Pearl.

I’m writing as fast as I can.