If You Wake Up in the Morning and All You Want to Do is Write...

Okay, seriously now, this book attempt is killing me.

Also, why do cats love laptop computers so much? Flyboy always wants to lie right against my stomach, on top of the touchpad and first two rows of keys. And he does not just sit there. Oh no. He luxuriates. Very weird cat. Thought it was jealousy. But now Sweetheart, the family cat who lives at the parents', is loving the HELL out of the side of the screen. So maybe Flyboy ISN'T weird.

Yeah, no. Did I tell you about the time the other day when I had to put him into the basement after he dove headfirst into the glass slider trying to catch moths? Right.

So the book attempt. I can never remember who knows this and who doesn't, but for a little over a year, I've been trying to wrestle a full size novel out of a series I started on the website I used to post on a lot. As of right now, it is the longest thing I have ever written, coming in at 47 pages and 27,796 words. For whatever reason, I've latched onto the ballpark of 50,000 words for my ideal length, but really it's a matter of getting all the concepts that are in my head onto paper, which is proving difficult. In my noggin, it's all done. I know who is going to do what when and where, but getting it in compelling prose is...jesus, it's AGGRAVATING, is what it is.

I hate it. I like the story, I like the writing, I like my word choice and I like my characters...but when I read back over what I've written, I convince myself that it's a juvenile, pedantic story with no interest, shitty dialogue, and crap writing. Does everyone go through this? How I am going to edit it, I have no idea, since I'll just hate it all and rewrite everything whether I should or not.

I guess it's probably a part of the whole process, but I wish I could somehow puke the whole story onto the page and then fine tune...but no. Le sigh. In time, I guess.