So I decided (just this second) that one feature of this little blogging experiment will be: titles for imaginary failed novels. Henceforth, you will find the imaginary title at the top of each post. Today's: The Diary of a Sad-Sack Muffin. Go ahead, try to write that story. You'll fail.
Anyway... an update. I've finished week two of this full-time novelist gig. Week one was extra-ordinary. Oh such freedom! I went to a movie, met up with friends for lunches, dinners, spent a little money I do not have, explored a couple museums... joined a dang Dungeons and Dragons group. Oh yeah, and I did some writing.
Week two was different. More real. A little more lonely. (I keep reading in different places that writing is a solitary existence... um, yeah.) But, and this is a big BUT, (ha, big butt) I've more than doubled the manuscript's pages since I quit the job.
To give some perspective: from the end of August to the beginning of November, while working full-time at the hospital, I'd managed to produce a meager 35 pages. A good beginning, but the writing time was way too inconsistent. After two weeks of writing every day, I've pumped out (ha, pumped) an extra 55 pages. That's write (oops... right), I'm up to 90 pages, suckas. More important, I'm happy with the book, so far! (I know! Unbelievable!) If I can continue at this rate, I hope to be done by the beginning of December.
Despite all the realness, the trying to figure it out-ness of my new life, so far, the move has paid off, at least metaphorically.
So I guess the point of this entry is to tell you all to quit your jobs. You'll be much happier. Most of you will probably all be fired soon anyway, so why not beat them to the punch?