Tonight I reread the first five chapters of my novel after a two-month sabbatical. During my vacation I had convinced myself that I needed to scrap the whole thing and start over, so I was pleased to find that it wasn’t QUITE as bad as I remembered. However it still needs loads of work, mainly in the character development, plot, narrative, point of view, and literary spheres. But I think it’s a decent draft. All the crucial elements are there – lesbian lovers, shark attacks, fast food. But really it’s an old-fashioned coming of age story, with some mock existentialism thrown in for good measure. I hear that most novels don’t get finished. I think I’m at the stage now where I could say goodbye and just take an incomplete. But I don’t want to do that. Things get done when you force them a little bit more every day. I will get over this hump. I was supposed to be a published novelist by tomorrow, my 27th birthday, but I have never done things on time. Just ask any of my college professors. Wish me luck and happy birthday. Usually I ask for neither because then I can go about feeling sorry for myself, but not this time. This time I will fill up the paper and blow out the candles and by the 25th of September next year, I will be at least 100 more motivational blog speeches into my first great novel.
