So . . . I’m Writing a Novel

Don’t cringe.  I write other shit.  In fact, I’ve written two other novels in the past four years . . . no one will ever get to read them, but that’s really not the point.  Hell, if it wasn’t for all the grueling hours those manuscripts represented, I’d probably burn them.

So, anyway, I’m writing a novel (it’s true; scroll down a little, you’ll see; I mean, I love talking about myself–between posts of random lyrics, that is).  I’ve given myself a 90 day deadline.  Why?  Because I’m sick like that.  Why?  Because I’m willing to sacrifice everything to, and for, my work.  Why?  Because I know I can.

I expect — with the sacrifice of a little sleep (OK, maybe just sleep, period) — I will have Book I (Act I, if you prefer) complete by the first of April.  With a lot of hard work, and a little luck, the first third of the novel won’t just be complete, but polished as well.  My goal is to have the entire manuscript completed by the end of May, which will give me all of June to do heavy edits.  At that point, I’ll pass off the manuscript to as many readers as I can threaten convince to read it, and that done, feedback received, I imagine I’ll have to let the story cool.  I don’t want to do that, but I know it’s necessary.

PS:  I’m tired.

PPS:  It’s only going to get worse.

PPPS:  Somebody stop me.