So I'm writing a novel. I've been writing it for a while. I think the last time I really mentioned it on the blog I was pleased to find I had 95 pages. Now I'm pleased to have 134 pages. I'm also pleased that I have a bit of a game plan for the novel. I don't know how it's going to end but I know that I'll have a complete rough draft by my birthday (end of November, you are all welcome to send me presents...though I won't be giving out my address so, hmmm, guess no presents for me). Yesterday I wrote this line. It's gross but I kind of like it...my character's taking a walk along a sewage-like creek in Silver Spring, Maryland and she sees a used condom:
"The reservoir tip swelled with a stranger's semen and resembled a surrealist's depiction of a pimple aching to be popped. Did they use it twice?"
Yup. Novel. Writing one. It must be finished.
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