I hit 100,000 words today. I thought I'd be done by this point when I started the book back in December, and I have 15-20,000 more to go.
But there was a time I never thought I'd be able to write as much as I already have. With my head, I know I'll finish. But never having actually finished a novel, it still seems like an impossibility. And I'm getting that writer's wanderlust...other projects seem so appealing just because I'm not actually working on them yet. Not actually screwing them up yet.
As soon as I type "The End" I'm going to put the book away in a drawer, take a week off from writing and buy a big bottle of champagne. And drink the whole thing myself. With potato chips.
Bonus points if anyone can identify that movie.