Okay, the story is now less crappy than it was a week ago. And still not done.
I think it’ll be done Sunday. Which then will give me a few more days to let it stew, then revise, then send off to the anthology editor.
I have killed many darlings in an attempt to trim wordcount, including a Companion politely telling his Herald to take a stick out of his posterior. IT WAS REALLY HARD CUTTING THAT JOKE YOU GUYS.
Interestingly, Scrivener doesn’t give numbers for amount of time spent in each section, so I’ve no earthly clue how many writing hours I’ve poured into this. I should track this someday; I would love to know if hours spent writing is equal to my hourly wages plus benefits.
I have often commented that part of why I don’t feel the drive any longer to become a Known Writer is that I have gainful employment that doesn’t suck. It’s a curse and a blessing…but mostly a blessing when you have a household to support. I would love to make enough money as a Known Writer, but based on what I know of the writing biz I am skeptical of being able to do so without selling my soul or writing the next Sookie Stackhouse. Or selling my soul to write the next Sookie Stackhouse.
I wouldn’t mind selling novels AND working at the gainful employment that also provides health care and retirement benefits. I would like to keep my soul intact. Assuming writing marketable novels is in my future, this could all be very possible.
And “The Whitest Lie” is an incredibly apropos song for this story. So much so that I am tempted to name the story after it.
If I lied, said I was fine
Would that mean anything?
The more you know,
The less you eventually find out.