A Course of its Own

Having only written Draft 1, and prepairing the outline for Draft 2, I feel like the novel is ready to take a course of its own. Finally. The characters are now really becoming their own characters, not reflections and guesswork of their inspirers. I see glimpses of plot, new scenes that didn't originally exist. We are wondering further and further away from the origins of inspiration. I don't fear it; I think it's good. This novel isn't about me, anyway. This book is about an artist and a family and the city of Savannah. This novel is about a painting.

There is still so much more for me to figure out. I am hoping to do some serious work on it tonight to bring these new scenes, and eventually a reconstructed outline, to life.

Wait, What I Love Most Is Writing

I can't wait to wait a week. I can't wait to print it. I can't wait to put it in a pendaflex folder and wait a little while (a very little while, I can't wait) and take it out. I can't wait to tape it to the wall, mull it over, slice and arrow and scribble every which way in the margins. I can't wait to make this manuscript fucking perfect.

But I can wait to complete the first draft. Shifty copy.