Yep. I’m out of time. (Or I have three hours left to write and tomorrow to hang out with my bestest friend and then Last Supper with other people I love.)
Leaving, as always, breaks my little black heart. And my diseased liver. I love this city more than I love gin. More than I love captain and diet. On par with how much I love cocktails. And some of my friends here are the very best I have.
I hate going back to my mediocre (at best) life.
But anyway, never mind I will now be depressed, drunk and get really fat all through winter. Having been a bit ambivalent about spending this month in NY for a large part of this year, I am very happy that I did. It’s been very productive. The intention was to have between three and five chapters after this time, which logically would lead to four. And that I do. Well, 3 1/2. Still, not bad for someone who’s repeatedly stayed out drinking till 2-3am!
I had a meeting with my mentor this morning. (My mentor is in NYC to do some research for a couple of weeks so it worked out pretty well.) We talked about one of the chapters 10 (now chapter 11) and about what my plan is for going forward. All in all a productive meeting.
I have decided to take two weeks off from writing when I get back. Two weeks to reflect on what I need to think about in terms of making the psychological aspects of the characters more apparent. (I will need to add case notes from psychologists and columns/articles from magazines so a lot of fun to be had writing those.) This is not a banal little love story. And when the two weeks are up I’m getting back in there and I’m finishing the not banal little love story. That is the plan.
What I will not do is not finish this.
Anyway, I didn’t finish the novel by today, which was my intention a few months ago. So I didn’t get to write the last sentence. And yes, I know exactly what the last sentence is. But it's hust a matter of not too much time before I get to type it.