I did not finish the draft this morning. I might have, if the Gorram Cat hadn't been feeling particularly puckish and refrained from knocking my Portal gun turret off the top shelf of my desk over and over and over. Effing cat. Plus she peed on the clean laundry in the basket. If cat tasted good, buddy, your fuzzy butt would be a porkchop.
So tomorrow, maybe. I'm trying to get the ending just right. Then comes the editing, where WORDS DIE.
writing: 719 words.