46 491 to go
44 036 to go
42 029 to go
Right now, I’m here:
In an old farmhouse kitchen, worn around the edges and buried under tchotchkes and clutter. It’s not quiet as glamourous as this kitchen, not quiet as stylishly distressed. It’s a typical farmhouse kitchen. Typical farmhouse kitchens tend to be high on functionality and low on style, but they always tend to be warm, open places, where long conversations happen at the kitchen table, where bread rises on a shelf above the wood stove, where you can sit and read a book curled in a rocking chair in the corner.
I’m not sure if the farmhouse kitchen I’m in is more like my grandmother’s or my parents’ kitchen, the one in which I grew up. I suppose it doesn’t really matter.
Of course, I’m not actually physically here. I’m a fly on the wall right now, “watching” my characters hash some things out around the kitchen table in stilted, badly written dialogue. Only 42 029 words to go.