Yes, you guessed it. I wrote another 1,000 words on the novel. I'm now just over 13,000 words. As I look at my previous entries, I think that I have the most boring blog in the world. But this is a writer's life; sitting at a computer or at a desk and building, shaping, ripping apart a story that will eventually get into hands of readers who will love, hate, despise, and ignore it.
I keep thinking of a cooking analogy. I spend all this time putting together what I hope is a delicious meal, but it will be consumed in far less time than it took me to create it.
So, why do I do it? I could come up with the self-delusional answer that writing is fun; in the same way that punching myself in the head might be mildly amusing. I could say that writing is something that I must do, but that sounds terribly self important and pretentious. I think in the end, I'd say I write because I'm not qualified to do anything else, and I like the punishment.
Okay, enough naval gazing. Off to the St. Albert Chapters for a book signing.
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