Of Making Many Books

Not much time for blogging tonight: Chapter 9 has me absorbed. It's taking longer than the other chapters--or maybe it's just that I keep going back and messing with chapters 2 and 8.

It's been a long time since I sat down seriously to attempt a novel. Over ten years ago I wrote my one-hundred-and-some-page draft of a middle reader story about a figure skating girl, her brother, and her arch-enemy. I can actually watch my writing skills progress as I read that piece. It's amusing.

Now I edit myself ferociously, writing my new story, and wrestle with preserving its inner logic. Just yesterday I realized that the way I had the relationships set up, the last names didn't work. Bah.

It's incredibly hard work, novel-writing. But I'm loving it.

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