Between Monday and two minutes ago, I have written over 10k words of my incredibly impulsive and vaguely-original werewolf project. Just gotta do that 8 more times and I’ll have a YA novel.
I’m having fun.
It’s just so easy to write this thing. I’m not reading over it as I go; I’m not self-consciously editing and censoring myself was I write whatever crap spills out of my head; I’m actually following some form of progression that seems like a coherent narrative … it’s amazing. It’s sooo generic in a lot of ways, not just in the sense of being predictable as a story but predictable as a YA novel, right down to the conflicts that are shut down almost as soon as they arise (BUT NOT REALLY) (even now I am plotting to torture my characters into madness) and characters whose existence is such blatant wish-fulfillment it makes Mr Darcy look subtle and nuanced.
And I don’t care.
Because it’s getting written, and it’s getting written fast. I could actually finish this damn thing in less than a month, and it would have structure and plot and coherence and oh my GOD this is so AWESOME
I really, really want this to work, because it’s working so well. It’s exciting. If I actually end up following this through to completion – hell, if I double my current word-count – I may even actually consider, like, revising it and even submitting it for publishing. It probably won’t get picked up, considering how saturated the werewolves-in-paranormal-literature market is, but I may well self-publish it or something.
This is fun! This is exciting.
Werewolves, of all things. I always wanted to write about werewolves. And now I am, and I’m enjoying it.
Guess I’ll keep doing it.