Well, I did it.
I met my self-imposed deadline (pretty sure that's a first in my lifetime) and completed the first draft of my novel (82,000 words!) before the end of March. I wrote the final chapter on Friday. I read through it again on Saturday and made a few additional corrections. On Monday I printed it off, made copies and mailed them to a couple of my reader/writer friends to get some much needed feedback.
After five months, I'm at a point where I've been thinking about it so much that I'm ready to take a break, but I'm also looking forward to getting ideas on how I can improve it. I'm sure the rewrites will not be as exciting as this first time through, but I'm not completely sick of the story or ready to abandon the project. Far from it.
Which is kind of weird for me. This is about as driven as I have ever been, about anything. And it's just a silly story I made up. It's not like I'm writing the Great American Novel here. It's more of a beach read.
Anyway, I'm pretty darn proud of myself. Now I'm trying to adjust back to my prior non-workaholic, non-driven self. And catch up on some of those neglected chores.
Speaking of which, I totally did NOT find a bunch of moldy clothes at the bottom of my laundry pile yesterday. That absolutely did NOT happen.
Thank goodness for OxiClean.
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The true purpose of writing novels is to allow the mind to stop thinking about laundry. I'm convinced of it. That's why it's so damn fun and liberating.
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