Day two of the “novel experiment” and I’ve got four short chapters done, none of which are more than a thousand words. It feels very odd to write chapters that only span three or four double-spaced pages.
I feel kind of lazy, to be honest.
I’m liking it, though. I’m liking the story and where it’s going, liking the oddball chapter titles, liking the apartment building that serves as the current setting and liking the two characters that have appeared so far. I’m not sure where this is going to go or how long it’s going to be, but it’s something fun to do and I am learning a bit about myself along the way.
I’m not really all that happy unless I’m doing something like this. If I’ve gone a while without writing something, even if I have manuscripts out at different publishers, even if I’ve recently received acceptance notifications, I feel lazy and a bit unhappy. This is apparently what I’m supposed to do with my life. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be notable or even decent (aside from my own opinion and that of Eric’s) but unless I’m doing this I’m going to feel like crap.
No wonder most of my twenties were so miserable.
I still don’t feel like I’m on the top of the world, but I’m getting there. I’ve been published, I have stories out at different places and I’ve lost almost sixty pounds in a year… Yeah, I could be doing a lot worse. I haven’t reached any long-term goals yet, but I’m making a strong and steady pace and that really means a lot to me. A year ago I was a totally different person, jealous and angry and bitter and full of spite. And now, I’m just slightly disgruntled.
I can deal with that.