Category: novels

Just got to the spyhouse. I wrote about seven or eight hundred words before getting dressed, then spent the last hour reading the GMR magazine that just arrived today from cover to cover. I don’t know if I was procrastinating or just really interested. I resisted the following urges: take nate’s netflix to the post office, go to blockbuster and rent the new Leisuresuit Lary game, masturbate, check my email, go somewhere other than the spyhouse for an “actual” lunch.

Someone stole the table that I was eyeing while I waited in line for my chai and lemmon poppyseed muffin. She looks increasingly like the woman I recommended Nate back into in the parking lot at the post office yesterday. He was talking about wanting to meet new people, and I thought she was hot. He thought she looked like a “skank” in the rear view mirror. She has a white iBook like me.

Back to it. 2900 words to go.

It’s approximately ten thirty on the last day of national novel writing month in 2004. I have three point five thousand words left to write. More importantly, my novel itself is coming to a close. I feel these two goals are entirely within my grasp.

Two nights ago, I confessed to Laura that I don’t think I want to be a novelist for a living. She wasn’t surprised, but I was. It’s always been my dream to be a published science-fiction novelist.

I am resolving that I will not write my next novel over the course of a month, but instead work on it every day for at least a year. It will be a work of literary fiction with sci-fi elements. (Not the other way around.) I may start it as early as tomorrow.

As soon as I am dressed, I leave for the spyhouse coffee shop.

Here’s a good read on the 1st avenue fiasco. There’s a couple of interviews, and the clearest picture of what happened and what’s going to happen that I’ve read yet. (Which is to say, it’s not clear, but still better.)

My novel started off great, but now I’m stuck. My wordcount yesterday started off 400 words ahead, and ended up about a thousand words behind. I’m not exactly worried about it, but I’m worried that I don’t know what to write next. I have several scenes planned for the immediate future, but none of them want to come out of me. I’m going to go take a shower and head to a coffee shop for some inspiration.

I should have known it wasn’t going to be easy. On wednesday I was actually thinking I should just stop every day when I reach my word count and start writing on the novel that I abandoned last year after I reached my 50,000 words… I started off thinking this novel was going to be so much better than that one because I have a plot planned… but so far I don’t really think that’s been the case. Writing a new thing has really made me want to revisit the old thing.

I wanted to intermingle these “poetic prose” chapters that are basically memories of this guy’s life, but so far I haven’t written a single one. At first, those were all I wanted to write, but I haven’t done any yet. I should really just write. That’s the important part… I’m gonna go take a shower now.