Perhaps more than with any project I've ever written, I have no idea how to feel about it. Is it good? Is it terrible? Have I wasted a year? Draft one received very mixed reviews from my writing group, and I'm not sure that I've made it better in this version.
"They" say that novels are never finished, only abandoned. It's time to walk away from this one for a while, leaving it like an orphan on a doorstep. It hurts to think that I'll have to take it back someday, and work on it MOAR.
|Like this, only scarier.|
In the meantime, it's almost NaNoWriMo. Will I attempt to outline and begin a new novel in only six days? I honestly don't know right now. Maybe it's the October spookiness outside, or the ineffable doomfeel of the impending election, but I'm feeling a little on edge.
I'm feeling a little behind. I have no idea how I can feel behind on my own life, which has no firm deadlines, but there you have it. I can't believe it took a year to write three drafts of this novel, considering I almost completed draft one during last November. But I suppose life is perverse like that. For another example of perverseness, my instinctual reaction to feeling behind is to avoid working.
Yeah, I know. Get back to work.
If you have any suggestions for how to actually do that, let me know.