It is a commonplace observation that writing and construction are analogous. I’ve made the comparison myself a time or two. Yesterday I had reason to consider it again. I’m having a house built. It’s in a nice subdivision of a far Portland suburb, right across the street from a park. Ideal for the Heir Apparent to grow up in.
The representative of the building company asked if we would like to see the work in progress. So I, along with My Beautiful wife and the HA, drove out to see the place. My, it has come along. The workers were busy on the roof when we arrived. It was probably in the low nineties, so I hope the roofers stayed hydrated.
But they are making progress. The shell is complete. Even the windows are in temporary positions. There’s quite a bit left to do, but you can get an idea what the finished product will look like.
That brings me to my work in progress. I’m actually much further along in the process. In fact, I’m well beyond the shell and temporary windows. I’d say I’m more at the rearranging furniture and re-considering wall color stage. I hope to have the latest draft off to beta-readers tomorrow, in fact.
I’m going to think of it as a race. Who will finish first? Either way, I win.