In writing my novel I seem to be disgorging the top of the heap of my brain. I don't meant the highest quality, just the stuff that's been on top of the pile in my mind since 2002. Man, is it DULL.
I was hoping this thing would be a rip-roaring wacky-fest, strange and surreal. Instead it's a bunch of long-winded chicks talking in a bar. It would seem I need to get out more - and not so much in bars.
A problem that I thought might turn up has as well: I don't want to hurt anybody. I've got to do some damage to some of these people but I can't figure out to whom and how. I have a great, demented sadist character but I can't think who to sic him on. Well, besides the guy whose body he took over. That guy's history.
For a so-called creative type I feel like I could be doing better.
However, maybe I just need to get this stuff out and afterwards I can write something more fun?
Ugh. At least I like words. Also, writing a daily 2,000 words worth of relatively grammatically correct sentences is proving to be easier than I thought it would.
So I'm plowing through. I'm gonna keep going and see what happens. We're only halfway through and nobody said I have to stop writing on December 1. Maybe it'll just take longer than a month to write something I like.
I do like writing though. And it's so much easier to clean up after than visual arts are!