And then I bought a ticket to go visit my lady love in DC in ten days. It’s going to be a glorious time of unfiltered awesome.
She makes me the happiest boy in all the land. Happier than I can remember being. Better than I remember being and it feels so beautiful and strange to be planning a future beyond tomorrow with her, beyond a thousand thousand tomorrows.
But the novel I’m writing is sort of a headache. 101 narrators and the final narrator’s tale is told in 1,001 sections and so the lowest estimate I have for it is about 150,000 words, but it’s looking more like 300,000 words at this rate. Every individual section is a bit longer than anticipated and because of the rushed nature of them–because I rarely have time to sit down and get it all down properly [working in between shifts and other responsibilities, cramming 5,000 words in just a handful of hours] I already know I’m going to have to expand just about every section, also because I learn more about the novel as I write it so what came first is sort of incomplete or incorrect–but it’s also one of the most exciting projects I think I’ve ever worked on. It may take me a month or two to get a first draft finished, which is crazy long for me. And then it’ll likely take several months for me to get it finalised.
So, yes, an accidental novel becomes a nightmare I want to live in for hours and days.
And I’m excited for the future in my real life. Waiting till March to find out if I get into Graduate school isn’t really ideal, but I don’t anticipate getting rejected everywhere. At least I hope I don’t. That’d force me to make some abrupt life changes.
Anyrate.
