“Render the hearts of this people insensitive,
Their ears dull,
And their eyes dim,
Otherwise they might see with their eyes,
Hear with their ears,
Understand with their hearts,
And return and be healed.”
I don’t know why, but this year I am having a really hard time even wanting to sit down and write my Really Bad Novel. It’s not that the story line and writing quality are really bad; I expect that. In fact, based on no real evidence except my feelings, I think the overall story for this NaNoWriMo is actually going better than in years past. But I am just disgusted with my characters. Ian is the only reader who seems to enjoy it, and he helped me make up the plot, so he’s really more obligated to like it. Personally, I’d like to give up on it…except I’m almost halfway there, and I hate to quit. And even if nobody else reads my posts (and this is not a plea to have people weigh in on my novel — I do not expect anybody to read it. I certainly don’t go back and read what I’ve already written. I know it’s junk.), I still feel like I should finish what I started.
So, grind to the nose stone. Back to my angst-y teenagers and zombiefied Victorian-era aristocracy.
PS – I am also getting tired of rides with more than 2,500 feet of climbing in them. I put my GPS tracks into two different programs, and they tend to be pretty discrepant. However, both agree that I climbed between 2,500 and 4,000 feet in yesterday’s ride and again in today’s ride.
PPS – See? I will do anything to avoid my Really Bad Novel.