Delivery

I’m working on the final manuscript of my novel, ironing things out and adding clarifications for the final delivery. It’s fun and not fun. I’ll be in my house drinking copious amounts of coffee and working on this until friday…

You know, sometimes, when I read a sentence, I’ll remember exactly where I was when I came up with it, and where I was when I wrote it. I was in a brass bed (the middle of which was broken, so that my mattress sunk in and I had to sleep as though on the precipice of an abyss) in a tiny bedroom when I came up with the novel’s first line. It was really early in the morning and I crawled out of the abyss and went to my old huge desktop and typed it in. I don’t remember where I was when I came up with the last one, though.

I started this thing 6 years ago. I was 23 and ambitious, but utterly confused about how to go about writing a novel. I’m glad I figured it out, but as I work on the final draft, I’m sometimes shocked that I did.

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