The Novelist and the Not-Quite-Happy Ending

I hate how the smell of coffee can permeate one's clothing in under thirty seconds. Especially if one happens to be a tea drinker. I spent a couple hours in Starbucks writing this morning, and even after a shower I still stink. Yuck. And in case anyone was wondering, the tea at the old Bucks of Star leaves pretty much everything to be desired. What they lack in taste they make up for in central locations, I guess.

Anyways. Between Saturday and this morning, I pounded out another 3k on Seraphine and am hurtling myself towards the ending (at least I think so). Made an important discovery about the plot today, and am feeling kinda smug about how clever I'm being. Don't worry, that's sure to evaporate as soon as I go back and read this thing. :-) Also, there's no way out of my tragic ending. I'm such a hypocrite about endings. Happy endings with a tinge of bittersweet are my favorite kind to read, with plain old happy endings a close second. I hate sad endings. I don't know why I write them. Just following the demands of the story, I suppose.

Speaking of which, I was up until nearly one this morning finishing Shannon Hale's The Actor and the Housewife, which, incidentally, never quite made it over to my "Currently Reading" tab. The book follows the quirky friendship of Mormon housewife Becky Jack and famous British actor Felix Calahan. It's hilarious, and sad (I cried. Shannon Hale made me cry. We're talking Kleenex, here.), and didn't end the way I wanted it to, but the way it probably should, even though I'm not sure I want to admit that. Ms. Hale's writing is bright and bouncy and lyrical all at the same time, and she's penned some of the most witty dialogue in the history of prose. All told, an enormously touching book. *sniffle*

And now, for this week's goal: finish Seraphine by Wednesday.
And this week's incentive: ordering my NaNoWriMo t-shirt.

October looms nigh. Which means November is right around the corner. Which means I really need to figure out what's happening at the end of my novel.

After Wednesday, of course.