Thanksgiving Day weekend has a lot of explaining to do.
The pity party is over and I’m back to work, but it doesn’t make things easier. Suddenly everything I do is filled with self-doubt. I’m 50,000 words into a new novel and now I can’t write a single page down without wondering if it’s all crap. It might be. It’s a lighthearted genre piece, and it has some great ideas in it, but I don’t know if it’s going to hold together.
If you know the works of Jasper Fforde, you’ll know the line I’m trying to walk – trying to combine layers of reality that are in some cases silly, and try to make you buy into it. It can be done. It’s just not easy. So to be 4/5 of the way through a book and to suddenly wonder if it’s not all tissue paper isn’t helpful. I need to keep pressing on.
After that I have another book I want to write – need to write in some ways. It’s a more serious piece, but it’s also the piece that prompted my agent’s last email. She thought it was “obviously well structured and interesting,” but not marketable in the UK as a first book… I can’t help but wonder if she’s being kind and actually thinks the idea stinks.
It doesn’t help that Gillian’s job situation has taken a turn for the worse. Her Thanksgiving is going to be worse than mine, I think. But at the same time I know she’ll get out of her problem long before I get out of mine. There is absolutely nothing that happens fast in the book industry as far as I can tell.
I feel like Sad Keanu… wonder if Happy Keanu from the future can cheer me up.
That’s right, Happy Keanu. There’s always pie.