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Well, you guys, September 29th has rolled around, and it's official: as I feared, I didn't finish my Big Bang.
There are several reasons for this, but surprisingly, the one thing I was really worried about - word-count - was still a problem, but not nearly in the way I expected. I didn't have any problem reaching 40,000 words - my problem was that I was 40,000 words and only halfway done! Most of the things that needed to happen for it to make sense hadn't made it in there yet, and there were a lot of plot points, which I suppose brings me to the second reason I didn't finish. I bit off way more than I could chew, guys. For fear of having no plot and nothing to write about I created this totally complicated one.
In addition to all that, I really should have known better than to have attempted writing a novel in the senior summer of high school, just when Hurricane College is about to hit. I'm applying to a bunch, visiting even more, writing filing cabinets' worth of essays, putting together a visual portfolio, a vocal portfolio, editing my written portfolio. I thought I'd have time, but the truth is, even in July, the palm trees were already starting to rustle.
I may continue this monster; I may not. In any case I suspect that even when I finish it, it'll need to go through several drafts before it's even presentable, much less any good. Because, apparently, that writer who takes thirty-five years to write their masterpiece? Yeah, that's totally me.
So, did I learn things? Yes. Was I glad that I tried it, even if I didn't succeed, so at least I wouldn't have any regrets on that front? Yes.
Am I still pretty fucking disappointed?
Well. You can guess.
There are several reasons for this, but surprisingly, the one thing I was really worried about - word-count - was still a problem, but not nearly in the way I expected. I didn't have any problem reaching 40,000 words - my problem was that I was 40,000 words and only halfway done! Most of the things that needed to happen for it to make sense hadn't made it in there yet, and there were a lot of plot points, which I suppose brings me to the second reason I didn't finish. I bit off way more than I could chew, guys. For fear of having no plot and nothing to write about I created this totally complicated one.
In addition to all that, I really should have known better than to have attempted writing a novel in the senior summer of high school, just when Hurricane College is about to hit. I'm applying to a bunch, visiting even more, writing filing cabinets' worth of essays, putting together a visual portfolio, a vocal portfolio, editing my written portfolio. I thought I'd have time, but the truth is, even in July, the palm trees were already starting to rustle.
I may continue this monster; I may not. In any case I suspect that even when I finish it, it'll need to go through several drafts before it's even presentable, much less any good. Because, apparently, that writer who takes thirty-five years to write their masterpiece? Yeah, that's totally me.
So, did I learn things? Yes. Was I glad that I tried it, even if I didn't succeed, so at least I wouldn't have any regrets on that front? Yes.
Am I still pretty fucking disappointed?
Well. You can guess.
