I have won, I have written 52,300 words in thirty days. However, that war drags on and I can't stop the damn' thing. My boy was up all night last night, then there was the day-job and tonight I am still dead despite being desperate to finish the blasted war.
It wouldn't be so bad but I can't end it as quickly as I would likme. These men deserve better, I know, and they will be denied individual death scenes, as war is wont to do, and will instead die as men in war do. Alone, unmourned and without any real rhyme or reason to it. There is no heroism in death, no romance in it and certainly no celebration of the sacrifice that they make. Sure, they knew it could happen, it doesn't make it worthwhile.
It is a horrible scene to write. I love these guys. I know these guys. I want to save them. But I can't. War has come and now it has its own immutable logic and path. William will survive. He has to. He has to become a Sergeant and be regarded as a loner. Meet the cowards and traitors around him, those that survived when his family has not, and reach his own conclusions. He'd almost redeemed himself, you know, almost become sympathetic. It's almost too sad.
I will try to keep going. No more word count updates, but I have enjoyed this experience so much and made some really wonderful new friends. I am addicted to this lovely feeling and I hope I keep contact.