I've never been shy about admitting my short comings. I'll make fun of myself probably more than I should. I think everyone should have a healthy dose of self-deprecation, it makes for interesting conversations.
<----(Just call me Ahab, this bitch was my white whale.)
Surprisingly, and without jinxing it, I have started the hopefully not near as long process of finishing the story. I can't exactly say what went wrong with it. Another book stole my interest. I didn't know how to fill in the story even though I knew how it would end. It's kind of a conundrum. Released just wouldn't give me a break. Yesterday I wrote something I feel is both fitting and awesome. Not to toot my own horn but after a book gives you the hell that it did, finally writing something good is the best damn high I've ever freaking had.
Strangely enough, this writing wasn't done in the wee hours of the evening. It wasn't written in the early hours of the morning. It was written in the middle of the day when a grown person should be working, and strangely enough without pushing super hard and finding the right pace. I've lost some bad habits, and that my friends is a beautiful thing.
The Wild Hunt was almost entirely written at three in the morning. Every day for years. I used to have the absolute worst sleeping habits. It's still not fabulous, but I don't do that crap anymore thank God! So I guess what I'm trying to say is that finally, at the ripe middle young, not super old age of 33 I have learned to be functional albeit crazy.