I’m on Chapter 23 in the book I’m writing.

1. I’m writing a book. How trite.

2. I don’t want anyone to read it, which is clearly an obstacle I must overcome.

3. I think the story is good, but yesterday, I wrote this horrible sentence that was unintentionally hilarious. Here’s part of it “nothing but the sound of the birds and the waves slapping at the sides of the boat.” Yes. I had birds slapping the sides of the boat. I caught that, but Jesus, that was funny and terrible. Also, the word “slapping.” No, just no.

4. I am having trouble with exposition. Please, someone tell me that getting through exposition is always a trial. Just lie to me. Thanks.

5. I actually like parts of it very much. That worries me. What if I have to cut it?

6. I plan on finishing it by mid-July in its rough draft form. Four months. I’m one month over my own personal deadline and the thing where Stephen King says, “Three months tops.” That arrogant butthole. I really like him.

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Thank you for this moment in time, where I acted like an insecure ass. You may leave a donation at the door. Or, a small, very wicked kitten. Either one is fine.