by Shelt Garner
While the actual text is garbage and there are too many scenes, I’ve “finished” the first act of a decent first draft of this novel. I think I’m going to have to admit to myself that this novel is probably not fit the “sweetspot” of between 80,000 and 120,000 words.
I have no idea why this is, but I’ve revised this thing many, many, many times and the first act always settles at about 50 scenes. If each scene is, on average, 1,000 words, well, lulz. The other acts aren’t as long, but, still, I’m pushing the length of a novel that I would be pitching as an unknown, untested author. I’m fully prepared to self-publish, but this is kind of my Hail Mary pass to get myself out of a rather fucking annoying situation.
I have a huge ego and believe that I’m interesting enough that one day soon I will be able to relive what I had in Seoul, only as a Blue Check liberal who bounces back and forth between NYC and LA.
I’m well aware that I’m being extremely delusional, but, lulz, I have to do something to keep going. Otherwise, I would just lie in bed and stare at the celling all day.
Now that I’m in the second act, I have to do a lot of reading. I’m now in the police procedural part of the novel. I know nothing about any of this, but I can read. And, if need be, I’ll get outside of my comfort zone and do even more research than I already plan to do. I’m even willing to pay someone with police experience to give me information as to how what I propose would actually play out.
I really believe in this project. And I have to keep reminding myself of the old adage about novels, that all novels are never finished, but abandoned. What this means is — you’re never going to “finish” your novel so it’s “perfect.” There comes a point when you just have to give up and produce something, anything that you can pitch to an agent.
Anyway. Wish me luck.