Could you write half a novel in nine days?

The dramatic stakes around the writing of this novel are rising. Rising stakes are good right? For Dramatic Tension. For Character Development.

here's an unrevised snippet:

I boiled water in a dingy large pan and added boxed macaroni noodles to the boiling bubbles. Two boxes even though there probably wouldn’t be enough water to boil them all well. I sat on the edge of Dee’s cot and rubbed her back. She was chanting into her pillow: She has to come back, she has to come back, she has to come back. There’s something about hearing magical spells repeated – no matter how non-proficient the magic -- that starts to work on the non-believer. For a moment as I listened to the mechanical repetition, I started to believe that there may just be an incantational power in the rhythm or belief of her words. And though, I still hadn’t given much thought to how I was feeling about Kathleen’s departure (she had, after all, left quite a bit of chaos in her wake), I was quite certain that, were she to return by magic, then there would be no question about how happily I would welcome her. After all, at that point, Dee would finally stop sobbing. Brian might, finally, open the covers of his bed which he had been hiding beneath since I crept up the stairs, and frankly, I was beginning to wonder how long it could possibly be until he had used up the residual oxygen under all that cotton and fiber. so you can see why I had an investment in believing in the magical power of in Dee's chant.

It may be hard to imagine that a grown man, dependable, stable, with occasional moments of wisdom could give himself over to the delusion that the incantation of an eight year old could transport his wife across time and space back to their presence. And all those years of responsibility, stability and careful consideration did tether me back just slightly from full-on-delusion. On the other hand, the delusion seemed magical and the perfect diversion, from an otherwise not-so-perfect set of circumstances

Can you breathe, Brian? I called across the big sleeping room. The mountain of covers shifted slightly.

She has to come back. She has to come back. She has to come back. And possibly it was the annoying whiny tone of the creed, sobbed repeatedly into a pillow, which may have motivated my participation in Dee’s fantasy. Whatever the rationale, I did start to believe, along with my daughter that Kathleen might actually re-appear. When characters in books and stories and movies were summoned by magic, they most often appeared with a (nicely dramatic) puff of smoke. I felt just slightly miffed that Kathleen’s puff of smoke started out so incredibly slowly. It was a gentle burning scent in the nostrils didn’t have any of the majesty that puffs of smoke and magical returns were supposed to have.

Actually, it was the macaroni burning downstairs.

22,000 / 50,000 words.

9 days remaining.

tick. tick. tick.