*keels over*

[rosie_rues]

Holy fuck, that was tight *just posted her Yuletide story with 5 minutes to spare*

So, I went to stay with my sister this weekend, thinking, hey, we'll drive back on Monday, I'll have all of Monday evening to finish it off and post it. Tight, but not quite a crisis. Except it took us 9 and a quarter hours to drive from Huntingdon to Guildford (just under 100 miles). Why? Because the UK is allergic to snow.

We got to my parents just after 11, where my mum kindly announced that she was putting us all up for the night and I went, "But, but, but, Yuletide!" because the story was on my laptop in my flat the next town over and I don't drive.

Luckily, I had a print out of the whole thing that I'd been handwriting the final scenes on, so my dad, who is a hero, lent me his laptop and scanned the first fifteen pages for me. I've spent the last three hours editing out scanner burps and adding a really flabby final scene, but it was done on time. I did not default.

(Not that I'm happy with the story, but I'm never happy with things written to a deadline and sometimes you get to a point where you just have to stop. I'd have needed twenty years to tell that story well enough to satisfy myself).

And, hey, no more imminent deadlines. I can watch Merlin tomorrow ^_^

Comments

[schemingreader.livejournal.com]

Oh, yay! I am looking forward to guessing which one is yours.

(I also wound up writing under pressure!)

[rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com]

I knew I was cutting it tight, but I really didn't expect that journey. It usually takes just under 2 hours and we were pretty lucky to get home at all. A lot of towns were still gridlocked at midnight and people ended up sleeping in hotels and school halls and department stores.

I'm more unhappy with this one than I've ever been with a Yuletide story. I just aimed too high and didn't have the time to write the novella that the prompt needed. Maybe one day in the future I'll do the job properly.

[schemingreader.livejournal.com]

I felt the same way, but it was only my second Yuletide. When I wrote last year's story, my nerves were more about whether my recipient would like it than about whether it was worth reading.