Not Much New

I've been stuck on Chapter 8, mostly because I haven't had the time or energy to think about it clearly. Whenever I hear a famous writer talking about how they write every day, I suspect them of living some sort of sheltered, ivory-tower existence. I've never had the priviledge of subsidized living and consequently loathe it and deride it out of both jealousy and condescension. I've had times both good and bad and have had to spend too much of my time on things like surviving the current day to always get the chance to trot out a few more pages of brilliance.

I should be back on track soon, but first I have to clear about four inches of accumlated anxieties off my desk. The original manuscript is buried under there.

Since I Been Gone Away

Because reality had to decide to stick its ugly puss in where it wasn't wanted, progress on the novel has been somewhat stunted as of late. It hadn't stopped completely, but was coming along in dribs and drabs (or maybe drabs and drabs). I've gotten a bit more done in the last couple of days and am now in the home stretch with Chapter 8. The total word count is up over 17,000.

This has been an interesting chapter to work on because I can spot the point in the original draft where the story changed from being a parody to being a novel. The first part of the chapter was pretty broad and had the tone of an early Woody Allen movie. About two-thirds of the way through, it suddenly changed and became about the characters instead of a string of comic ideas.

Maybe that's part of why it has been such slow going: It's all about the people now, and I let the jokes fall where they may. I've learned a lot about myself over these last several months, both as a person and as a writer. It's been good. In spite of reality.