I have been working on this book in some form or another for one hell of a long time. And I am only really now starting to be able to see myself completing it. (Probably. For the most part. Pretty much definitely.)
I’m still getting used to telling people that I’m working on a novel without feeling completely ridiculous. But I may never cease to feel anxious about getting the dreaded question: what’s it about? I’m here to tell you that trying to give someone a synopsis of your book while you’re writing the first draft is like telling her about a weird dream you had last night that you only half-remember.
I have some nonfictional fiction news to share…
Sarcasm and Snark are the peanut butter and jelly that gum together this blog. And also my life. But let’s get (sort of) serious for a second. I actually did something productive for my writing this summer: I took my first workshop at GrubStreet.
For a while after the class ended, I was so high on the thrill of positive momentum that on two occasions in one weekend I blurted out to a couple creative acquaintances of mine that I’m working on a book, and I didn’t (immediately) shame spiral.