Feeling so restless. Not sleeping. Eating, though. Went to my chicken guy and ate a great deal of it. Been wandering on youtube all day watching silly videos, feeling like exploding. I should be finishing the edits on the novel so I can begin the next one which is swarming inside me, taking over all my thoughts, all these visions
that I keep seeing and I need it, want it, this story cutting through spacetime framed by immortality and all about probably love. It always is. Always love because likely I don’t or can’t understand it.
Heartless romanticism, what to cure this insatiable desire.
I feel so lazy when I’m not writing. There’s no reason for that, of course. I wrote more in the last month than most people will write this year. More than most people will write within two years, probably, but that doesn’t make me feel better. It just makes me know that I’m behind where I want to be. I want to write five novels over the next year. I’ve written five over the last fourteen months, so I figure I should be able to write five more. I spent a lot of time doing nothing this year, too. Also, to aid the process, I’ve a few novels already in various forms of completion. Two, for sure, that could easily be finished before 2012.
2012. I’ll turn twenty five that year. Before that, I’ll have my first novel published. I don’t think I’ll be submitting anything until I finish the tenth novel.
Actually: mission decided. No submissions until the tenth novel is complete.
And just like that, I’ve left myself exactly where I want to be: alone with the words.
Probably going to do something stupid tonight.