I’d like to take a two moments here. The first moment is to appreciate how much I like typing on a black screen with a white, courier-style font. It’s extremely satisfying. The second moment is to take stock of my shit.
I’ve realized recently that my initial “vomit draft” of The Book is a little too fucked up. That is to say, it starts in the wrong place; the first act is longer than the rest of it; it has too much backstory; and, worst of all, one of the main incidents that drives the plot kind of has to go. Worst of all, friends. Worst of all. I need to replace a main vehicle for the plot with something else.
I will also say (it’s my blog; I can just say and say and say, and no one short of a cataclysm can stop me [we personify cataclysms on this site and love parentheses and brackets in equal measure]) this: my sentences are too long.
But I’m also looking forward to it. I have my first, shittiest full vomit draft done. Now, after starting the second draft and realizing that my vomit has the wrong color and shape, I’m going to go back and do a second vomit draft. The first vomit was a mostly bile. Not chunky enough. My hair didn’t even get wet. My hair is short, but you get the idea. If you’re grossed out and think I took this metaphor too far, I’m a little bit sorry, but not really, because taking gross metaphors too far is my vibe.
I’m getting off track (also my vibe). My point is that I must do a new vomit draft, and while I’m discouraged, I’m also a little excited. I think I can make it chunky. Maybe it’ll smell a little bit like tequila and a western omelet. A dash of cinnamon roll. I can scrape it together into a shape rather than just smear it around with a paper towel. Now I’m grossing myself out.
Doing it, gang. Doing it.
DM
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