I am writing a novel.
I know.
My originality stuns me.
5-10% of people who start writing a novel finish it.
40-50% of people who start college finish it.
College takes 4 years, on average.
Writing a novel takes 87 years and several metric tons of chocolate popcorn, bottled water, ibuprofen, icebags for sciatica, lock-jaw from yelling “If you kids don’t turn the TV off and get your homework done I am seriously going to go opera on you! Don’t make me leave my protagonist and come out there!” therapy, cheesecake, aluminum foil, string, printer paper, laptop keyboards to bang my head on because the stupid beta of the word processor I am getting a jump on the world by using keeps throwing me out with no warning or backups, dark-chocolate-covered-blueberry-flavored-acai-berries, diet coke, fuzzy slippers, copies of InStyle magazine (for which mention of I did not receive a free copy), fish food, and Ben & Jerry’s Half-Baked (no free gifts with that either). Plus an addition 14 pounds of hand sanitizer.
Writing a novel is way more exhausting than college.
Seriously. If I survive this someone should give me an honorary doctorate. I’ll have earned it. Especially since I read that Sara B. Larson (newly repped paranormal YA author) once wrote a book in three weeks. I’ll hate her for it as soon as I stop liking her for being nice.
Why IN THE WORLD am I doing this to myself?
Probably because I love it. And I hope my book makes people smile, whoever ends up reading it. Because I love that too.
The End.
It already makes me smile . . .
Oh Janiel, you're too funny. I can't wait to read your book! The little bit of your writing that I've read already is wonderful, and I can't wait for more!
Janiel, I adore your blog. Makes me happy and smile. You have talent in spades.