After a few more days of hard work, I’m proud to report that I just finished chapter ten.
What a good feeling, right?
It’s still a little weird to me that I’m writing a book. I mean, I know a lot of people write books–good books, okay books, and very bad books–but for some reason I just can’t get over the fact that I am writing one. It’s not like I’ve never tried writing a book. Actually, I’ve tried a few times but I’ve always fizzled out along the way. I figured that short stories were my thing, you know? Not to imply that I’m even close to the same level as them, but O. Henry and Poe pretty much only wrote short stories. With heavy hitters like that sticking to the form, I had no problem just being a short story kind of guy.
But then came the idea. I was thinking about class–or rather the differences between the social classes–and this totally epic sci-fi book just popped into my head. Weird, right? One second I’m thinking about class inequalities in the United States and suddenly there’s an entire three volume series nestled in my brain meat. Strange how the whole creative thing works.
Ever since that day, all I I’ve been doing is writing. I write in the morning before work and then at night when I get home. If there’s time I write on my breaks at work. I even write in class when my instructor is blabbing on and on about something I already know. What’s more, it’s not some passing thing. I’ve been going strong like this for a couple of months now. I spent the first month plotting the thing out–way too long to plot, by the way–and the last 28 days or so have seen me tapping the keys every single day. Good stuff, right?
Anyways, that’s it for today. I realize that’s a bit of a chopped ending to an entry, but I’m pooped. Work tomorrow and I have got to sleep. Thanks for reading.