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!