Ok, so it’s not totally print-worthy finished. Nevertheless every chapter has been written, every note and comment and character well rounded and a part of the ride of its life, of my little novel. I can’t quite believe that I made it here, to this mountain I’m standing on and wondering whether to turn back whilst I still can or keep on keeping on to the top of the summit like a spider to the fly.
Whether this book makes it, with me in tow, isn’t the point. It’s that I reached this high completely myself by my own head and hands. If I died tomorrow – this is one of the true few things I can be proud of. It was something I didn’t plan. I never sat down and thought, “hey I think I’ll ruin my damn mind and sit down and write a book.” Never came to me. I knew I wanted to write but the thought of writing a book and living with yourself throughout, and working full time, was not on my cards — until it was.
For years I’ve filled notebooks with phrases, ideas and little people I thought it would be good to meet and learn a thing or two from. Those hundreds of notebooks are not in a single binding.
The first novel of me.
Now I’ll need to back it all up – once, twice & thrice! After that I’ll see about getting it printed somewhere so I can sit down and hold it in my hands. When I’m done staring at the title and being in awe of the actual fact that I FINISHED DAMN NOVEL. Then I’ll pour myself a tall cool glass of Dr. Pepper and start reading. As I go I’ll be making notes, see what does and doesn’t work and then make changes like it was the entire intension from the beginning.
It’s a rare feeling I have in my heart today. I could make an audience scream with laughter, I could be a good person and I could write a book. I’ve done all these things now. No idea where I’m going with that train of thought or where I’ve been, but so and so. Much like myself, I’m sure you’re wondering what the hell my next step is. I haven’t a fucking clue.Right now I’ll drown myself in the euphoria of having finished the novel. Allow me that, and join me if you wish. The novel that I seem to have been unconsciously meaning to write since nowhere.
I have a few literary agents that I get good vibes from that happen to accept western submissions, something that is surprisingly rare nowadays – but I’m bringing this genre back from the dead. I’m hoping it won’t be too troublesome to find someone I can see myself working with long term, but they’ll have to enjoy my random nonsensical blutterings and made up words – and then also be able to deal with my company. We’ll see. Wish me luck.