100 Pages

"What was this? Checkered tablecloth? A hundred wine bottles? No dancing? Oh, no; I’d been trapped in an old people party!
The worst part is, I couldn’t even leave. I was the guest of honor, remember? That commando tore up his uniform for me, so I might even have to drink some of his rotten grape juice just to be polite."

I can hardly beleive I've written a hundred pages so far; I must have written more already this summer than all of last year, or almost. It's getting pretty good; I'm into chapter 8, but I'm already seeing a couple things I'll have to go back and fix. For now, I just keep talking, keep telling the story.