Third Book: Dog Days
I was in a bad way today. Throughout most of the day, I found myself staring at the clock, hoping it would move faster. All that seemed to do was slow it down. How is that even possible? Isn’t time one of the constants? Does staring at the ticking numbers cause some relativistic nightmare from which there’s no escape until our attention drifts elsewhere?
Last week, I finished the second draft of the first part of my third book. You may have seen the Instagram photo. It’s around 58,000 words at present, but still needs quite a bit of work. For instance, I believe I need to rewrite the section’s ending as, though passable, it comes off too confusing for one I want to be both suspenseful and tear-jerking.
I’m taking a break from that section, though, to work on the next—the one I previously mentioned was likely to give me the most difficulty. I’ve been chipping away at the storyline on a daily basis and, as of today, I’m nearly a third through with something near 6,000 words.
Like Who’s Line is it Anyway?, the words truly don’t matter. It’s just an easy way to track such things. In a year’s time, I’m certain the numbers, and the content that is held within their confines, will be markedly different.
Today, though I managed to pass my daily goal in fits and bounds, I didn’t want to write. I didn’t want to do much at all. I wanted only to put on my headphones and drift to sleep, succumbing to the world of dreams, the place where all troubles are imaginary and the possibilities are endless.
I’ve had trouble sleeping lately, so maybe that’s why I feel so drained. So drawn out. Like Neo at the beginning of The Matrix. Or pre-hypnotized Peter in Office Space. Or—
My God, the person next to me is perhaps the most depressing person I’ve ever been forced to listen to on a daily basis. These people who avert their eyes, who endlessly complain about their most basic job functions, who seem so… miserable… they’re sucking my will to live.
I wish life was more like a videogame. Free of consequences, promoting risks, filled with extra lives and restarts. Maybe that’s what I really need.
Last week, I finished the second draft of the first part of my third book. You may have seen the Instagram photo. It’s around 58,000 words at present, but still needs quite a bit of work. For instance, I believe I need to rewrite the section’s ending as, though passable, it comes off too confusing for one I want to be both suspenseful and tear-jerking.
I’m taking a break from that section, though, to work on the next—the one I previously mentioned was likely to give me the most difficulty. I’ve been chipping away at the storyline on a daily basis and, as of today, I’m nearly a third through with something near 6,000 words.
Like Who’s Line is it Anyway?, the words truly don’t matter. It’s just an easy way to track such things. In a year’s time, I’m certain the numbers, and the content that is held within their confines, will be markedly different.
Today, though I managed to pass my daily goal in fits and bounds, I didn’t want to write. I didn’t want to do much at all. I wanted only to put on my headphones and drift to sleep, succumbing to the world of dreams, the place where all troubles are imaginary and the possibilities are endless.
I’ve had trouble sleeping lately, so maybe that’s why I feel so drained. So drawn out. Like Neo at the beginning of The Matrix. Or pre-hypnotized Peter in Office Space. Or—
My God, the person next to me is perhaps the most depressing person I’ve ever been forced to listen to on a daily basis. These people who avert their eyes, who endlessly complain about their most basic job functions, who seem so… miserable… they’re sucking my will to live.
I wish life was more like a videogame. Free of consequences, promoting risks, filled with extra lives and restarts. Maybe that’s what I really need.
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