in the end, i missed the ending of my own book. i was typing so fast that i went three sentences past it before i realised where i was. i'd expected fireworks to go off inside my head... so that at least the pain of the explosions would alert me to something important going on.
overall, i'm very disillusioned. i figured i'd be ecstatic. after all, it's about 130,000 words long and it took four and a half months to write. as of now, after six hours, i feel nothing. my cat has had more enjoyment over the fact that her owner is a novelist than the owner herself has.
but i'm going to do a quaint, inefficient little f7 edit before sending the thing off to createspace to collect my nano winner's prize of a free print copy. then i am not allowed to touch the thing for a month. at the moment, i could care less if i didn't touch the thing for years, but i suppose its rough hewn quality will grate on my perfectionist nature and i'll attack it with my quill one of these days. either that, or the fear of me dying and having that left as my commitment to the high sphere of novelling... *shudder*










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OgeeDesigns
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Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us. ~ (calvin & hobbes) Bill Watterson
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Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us. ~ (calvin & hobbes) Bill Watterson
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