Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks.

I really just want to print my manuscript already, before I have to face another obstacle of picking up the story like earlier this month. I'm pretty excited to copy edit and expand on what I already have. That's going to be fun for a little nerd like me.

In other news, like, two more days left in the year? Geez.

And, I promise I'll stop with the Shakespeare quotes after December ends. I just think they look so nice all filed neatly in the month archive. (:

And show the heavens more just.

In the wee hours of this morning, I finished my first draft of the first installment of my first novel.

I feel more accomplished now than I felt at the end of National Novel Writing Month when I crossed the 50k word mark. Now, I have a perfectly flawed manuscript waiting to be printed at Kinko's, to move to the next stage: revision. I'm excited about editing my draft because I know it can get better, and that finished product will also be something to proud of.

I emailed the 175-page, 63,000 word file to my roommates just now. They better start reading, because I'm ready for the constructive criticism. (:

Able to breathe life into a stone.

So for the past 36 hours or so I've been making slow, painful progress on my NaNovel. I reread the last chapter (about fourteen pages) to refresh my memory, and I was quite proud of the above-average writing I'd done in the waning hours of November. But then I had to go back even further to make sure I was going to tie up all the right loose ends, and the writing wasn't so good. I had definitely gotten into the swing of things during NaNoWriMo. Now, all I've got to do is get that groove back.

Making a push at chance and sufferance...

I've been going to sleep -- and waking up -- uncharacteristically late these past few days. I'm so bored here at home, but I feel guilty for wasting so much of my day sleeping.

However, sleeping late gives cause for really freaky dreams (at least, in my case). I've been hoping for a really great, revelatory dream, giving me fuel (err, plot) to write, but instead, I'm haunted by these downright weird experiences in which I get lost in NYC's Bryant Park or, in like this morning's dreams, get expelled from school. And, in my dream, since I no longer had school to fill my days, I was forced to return home and wallow in my failure and boredom. I couldn't even remember why I got expelled, a story I'm sure which would have been fun to bring back to the world of the conscious.

The whole point of me retelling this particular dream is that, while I was engrossed in self-pity, my dream-self was inclined to blog about the whole ordeal. Ha. I'm such a nerd, even in sleep.

But only vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself...

Last night I decided I wanted to write an unconventional superhero story. I didn't have much plot in mind but I was busy imagining some pretty elaborate characters... so I climbed in bed with my laptop and opened a new file and wrote one line and stopped.

I was distracted by a little folder in My Documents labeled Fiction. It was unorganized in a truly endearing sort of way, so I started to wade through it and I was lost for the next three hours, reading old narratives and detailed outlines and bad bits of dialogue which had seemed clever at the time.

And, while I was lost in that folder, I remembered why I love to write.

Here's ado to lock up honesty and honor...

I'm really bored. Can you tell? I mean, it isn't as if this is my third blog post in under an hour. Obviously, I have so much more I can be doing with my time. Clearly.

The thing is, with that first blog post a little while ago, I realized how much I missed blogging. Even if no one reads it. Even if this is one of the most vain acts a person can perform. Even if my writing is sub-par and confusing and lacking in style. (Or -- is this my style, and therefore, my writing is plumb full of style?)

Truthfully, this is probably my seventh, or tenth, or fifteen blog. I wish I had a list of all the LiveJournals, Xangas, and other URLs I have mowed through over the years. They're surprisingly hard to track down, though perhaps I should be thankful for such a difficulty. I probably don't want all that prose lined up in easy access for all the world -- or, at least, those few of you unfortuante enough to stumble across this most recent blog -- to see, and criticize, and giggle at. Because all those years ago -- beginning around eighth grade -- I didn't really have much by way of an opinion, and I certainly didn't lead an exciting life. Even now, seven or so years later, my life is quite dull (which you've probably already figured out by now). All I do is read, and hang out with my family and friends, and think about things. Not much by way of action.

I'm just rambling now. I guess all I wanted to say was that I'm glad I'm blogging again, and I hope I can keep up with it. At the very least, this blog has a focus: my adventures in the world of writing and literature. I can handle that -- can you?

Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers.

Actually I started writing some ridiculous little thing about a girl living in ancient Rome. Actually, she moves to Ancient Rome from the country. I'm not really sure which country exactly, as I'm too lazy to do much research aside from a little Wikipedia about ancient Roman architecture and villa layouts and the function of a peristylium. So I'm stuck with this too-modern, unoriginal mess about slaves and honor and unrequited love, and I'm lamenting those four years of Latin in high school when I complained about having to watch Ben-Hur and translate thirty-line stories about the Cornelii.

But you would be proud, because, going against all my most powerful procrastinator's instincts, I sketched out the whole plot before I wrote a word of the narrative.

How's that for reckless abandonment of a perfectly good, nearly-finished manuscript?

So again goodnight. ...This bad begins and worse remains behind.

I haven't really touched my novel since the end of November. I don't really feel guilty about this, or like I've abandoned a project I'm really quite proud of. I've emailed it to a friend, and I plan to email the file to the rest of my closest friends tomorrow. (I don't know why I don't just do it now. I guess I'm just too lazy.)

The thing is, I knew I'd have to take a step back. I knew I was going to be exhausted, but I didn't anticipate leaving my story unfinished for nearly two weeks. The fact is, if would just sit down and do it, I could tie up the first installment of my novel (because my story is much more intricate and epic than 50,000 words) in one sitting. One long, painful, and back-breaking sitting, but one sitting nonetheless. I just need to do it.

I wonder if there's a procrastination gene I inherited? It's completely possible, right? Right?!