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Nov. 9th, 2005

Nowhere on the novel. About 5500 words so far, way way behind. Why does it not worry me? I hope not because I have simply given up.

what I am seeing now is pieces. Stuff that might be part of a novel some day but surely isn't now. It's the same with the last one I wrote. This does not discourage me, because what I see is that it is missing the details. There is a lot I can do to fill in the gaps and make it more interesting. Whether I do this now or later really does not matter.

The difference this time is that I am drawing from my own life, my childhood. I have changed a number of things but I can draw on the feelings from then, and that, I think, is what matters. It's boring right now but it has more potential.

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