The book is dovetailing nicely toward an end. It is literature. It is a bible. It is the Dianetics of the literary world, and a thousand years from now entire religions will form around its greatness. This novel is the Wyld Stallyns of our time, and an entire future will depend upon it.

So I am allowed to think for a few more weeks. Then I see it for the steaming pile of crap that it is. Ah, the joys of Stage II — the joys of making the Second Draft.

At any rate, there is something to celebrate here, which is the near completion of my first ever novel (first draft of my first novel). I’ve never managed more than forty-thousand tortured words before. This story needs work, A LOT of work, but it’s the best thing I’ve written so far, and I think, I hope, worthy of being published some day.

Home stretch time. With any luck, my next post will be all about how I typed the words “THE END”.

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