I’ve decided to do something very silly. I’ve taken upon myself a difficult task for which I am not qualified. A feat which has little chance of reward. A project which, knowing my short attention span, I cannot hope to complete. It is a sign of desperation that I should even consider trying on such a thing — desperation for something great, to have done something (arguably) worthwhile.
And with the above safety net of self-deprecation and humility pulled taut and firmly staked into the ground, I can share my embarrassing decision: I am writing a novel.
Writing a novel is obviously a time-consuming endeavor, and I probably won’t have any new poems or short stories to post for some time. In order to not keep my rabid fans hanging on an empty blog, I’ve decided to post instead about my experiences writing the novel. If nothing else, I expect my torment and anguish will be entertaining to some.
And let’s be honest: I have the attention span of a A.D.D. dachshund, so this whole thing potentially won’t last too long. You might have me back in no time. Until then, wish me luck!
