Rant

Disclaimer: This is a rant. This is what happens when I reach the midway point in a novel (usually, anyway) and I think back over what I've written. This reflects my opinion of myself and my writing only in a skewed sense. I have disabled comments for this entry because this is not meant to be self-pitying or self-aggrandizing. Just cathartic and purgative.

Dear Gods, I hate this novel.

Seriously. It sucks. I hate it, I hate it, jump up and down and stomp feet and wave fists and scream. It's too long where it should be really short and I can't figure out how to edit it in a way that makes sense. It's too repetitive, too boring. Too banal where it should be magical. I took an idea and I ran with it and I spun it out way too long. And I have no idea how to do this anyway. It's flopping miserably. It's horrible and gross. Worse, it's boring. It's like a boring version of what was supposed to be a beautiful dream.

I can't stand it. I can't stand reading it. Much less writing it. Every word is squeezed out. And sometimes reading other stuff is inspiring and right now it's just painful. Especially a certain person who shall remain nameless but who is an amazing fucking writer and god I wish I had half his talent and stuff. Not Neil.

Argh. Argh argh argh. I don't like this. I hate this novel, I hate this thing, I want it to go away. I want it to be half as beautiful on paper or on the word processor screen as it is in my head. I want it to be done so I can throw it away and never see it again. I want to be able to write something I can actually sell as good. I want to actually be able to write instead of all these jumbled up images that never amount to anything.