The Life of My Story

I have finished the first draft of my very first novel. I am not sure I'll ever let anyone read it, and I'm certain it's not publishable since it's not a formula sci-fi or detective or romance or etc. It's got 72,000 words, give or take. Some of them are even good words, and in a few places they're even arranged in a quite readable manner. It may even have potential to be rewritten two or three times and make it into the "handwritten-rejection-note" category.

But I am just happy to have finished it. It started November 1, 2004, as part of "National Novel Writing Month." I did indeed get to 50,000 words within the month of November, but it took me more than two months to finish the remaining 20,000 words. I don't think the last 20,000 are any higher quality than the first 50,000, alas.

The important thing, though, is having done it. I just hope I don't turn out to be the William Hung of writing, a lovably sincere but wholly incompetent hack who exposes himself (or rather, exposes his lack of talent) to the entire world.