Scrap the novel - embrace the sunk cost fallacy

Another crap day, and no sleep. I'd like to say maggotcocks at this point but with all the flack I'm getting for being who I am I'd better stop swearing too. Which reminds me of a workshop where someone commented that on page 5 or 6 of my first chapter my protagonist says "fuck" and the comment was that they would have like to know a bit earlier that "it was going to be that kind of novel". I was that kind of novel but now I'm having to rewrite myself.

So no maggots of any sort anymore. But it was thinking about that very word and cockpossum that made me realize that I'm just not going to do this. Finish the novel that is. I thought it be awesome, Eliza walking into Abby's in the first chapter and saying that, that'd be just like her. But then I thought, if Eliza walks into Abby's in the first chapter I need to rewrite the second chapter (where she first appears) and realized I just can't be bothered. There's so much work to finish this piece of crap.

I can't do it working full-time (= 12 hour days). I can't take a month off next summer, and it can't wait that long anyway.

Ergo, stop wasting energy on something that's so unlikely to ever get finished, and just "enjoy" life. I have 37 bars on my must-go-to bar list; surely that's a way better way (bad writing, see...) to spend my life? I've turned down a few dates to write (or I used writing as  an excuse not to go on dates with people I don't want to go on said dates with. But as I proved earlier this year, I did them a favor as I only go on dates if I first have two profs plying with me with wine so I can show up an hour late, drunk and talk about another guy for the rest of the evening. I actually went on a second date with that guy, to which I showed up really tired, declared that we were not on a date, just having drinks, proceeded to get drunk, talked about another guy and got walked to the subway at 9:30pm. I'm such a bad date! Like the worst date ever.)

So, I'm shelving the novel (and dating). I admit defeat. Who needs to finally achieve the one thing they always wanted to achieve anyway?

Cheers.

Enough with the lazy & excuses already

So I haven't written a word since the end of my retreat, which today is a month. A whole month wasted and I haven’t even been drunk. Maybe that’s why I haven’t written anything.

50% of my energy has been put towards an upsetting event, 50% has gone into endless hours at work and 75% has been spent on telling my brain to "shut the fuck up or I will lobotomize you” because as usual it’s fucking annoying and obsessive. Yeah, I’m talking to you pigfuck! (Sorry, I picked this word up from a novel this morning. Haven’t quite decided how to use it yet – maybe “we were drunk like pigfuck”. Or “you’re such a pigfuck”. It also works very well in Swedish, especially if you add som fan after it. See, you can always learn new things by reading.) The remaining 50% I’m going to spend on learning how many percent goes into 100%. And, to add to my my defense, I've been travelling and I've had a life.

So, anyway, the inclination, mood and energy to sit down and write after having to cram 175% into 100% have really not been there. But I do realize the time has come to pick this up again or the project, i.e. my novel, might actually just slide into oblivion. 

So I’m thinking I need a new schedule. (Though first of all I need to stop starting all my paragraphs with “so” and also stop starting sentences with “so”. I do it way too often, even in my novel. So what? Pigfuck. I like starting my sentences with “so”.) And new routines. And new people. And I need a drink.

I’m now mentor-less so (progress, a “so” not at the start of the paragraph/sentence) I don’t have deadlines beside any I set myself. Which I never, or at least hardly ever, meet. I’m meant to see the guy I did some workshopping with before I left for NY in the next few weeks but that’s not enough of a kick up the backside to make me write. And he’s only seen two chapters – I can just hand him something I wrote ages ago, which means I don't even have to actually write to meet up with him. It was much easier when I had to hand over money every month. I almost miss having a mentor.

So (yep) I also need readers and editors. Apply within.

(This is a pigfuck post. I’m just rambling because I don’t have a clue how I’m going to go about this pigfuck.)

The last few days I’ve heard myself saying to people, confidently, that my new deadline is my birthday - i.e. the end of May. And I think it’s realistic. I reckon it will take me about 1-2 Sundays (my day set aside for writing, unless… actually I shouldn’t tell anyone what the exception is) to edit a chapter, and maybe I will have to sacrifice Saturdays too. Unless I'm going to move after Christmas. But maybe if I want this done I will have to give up all else. Apart from running. And cocktails. And Halloween. It will all be worth it when it’s there, on a shelf, in a bookstore. Sometimes you just have to choose what you want most in life.

And I can always comfort myself with the knowledge that the next one will be so much easier…

Tears

I realize this post isn't going to make much sense to most, as only a very few knows what has happened. 

I've had some very unsettling and upsetting weeks (which have included a lot of tears) since I returned back from my writing retreat, not helped today by having abuse shouted at me by a crazy person over the phone for like 25 minutes at work. To be honest, with everything else going on it almost made me cry - and I don't cry over work crap. And that's after already bursting into tears over lunch while telling a friend about what's been happening in my private life since my return.

I spent a large part of last weekend with a tissue in one hand and a whiskey in the other (note - not while driving). And Wednesday I burst into tears in my Hendricks and tonic and last night I burst into tears in my Kraken and diet (though that went unnoticed - phew!). So it seems since coming back my life is all about crying.

I have decided to use this constant teariness for some good. Because tears can be powerful and make you determined too. She said she knows I will finish my novel, that it will get picked up and published. And I want to make her proud; I want to do this for her.

So, after I've finished crying for this time and I've been for a run, I'm going to sit down and start editing Chapter 1. Maybe I am committing the fucking sunk cost fallacy, but I don't care - I going to finish this novel even if it kills me. Although, since I told her about my next project, I kinda have to stay alive long enough to complete that too.

Sunk Cost to the Bottom or Sunday Cocktails?

It I could just admit to myself that this entire novel writing bullshit is just me committing the sunk cost fallacy and it’s time to let the novel go and sink to the bottom of the Ocean of Crap I've Wasted My Time On. 

Because I have no energy and no motivation to finish this. 

Maybe a new laptop would motivate me? Maybe a 11 inch MacBook Air is the ticket? Though I've tried that. More than once. Last time I purchased this trusted laptop I'm currently typing on (which has been to New York on several writing retreats and has typed the entirety of my novel this far and a couple of short stories) was my incentive to write (oh but my laptop is now three years old, surely it's time to get a new one?) and look where that's taken me. Well, it's taken me almost to the end of my first draft and I've started redrafting so...Maybe I should stay with this one until I finish the fucker - superstitious.

But the will to write, the will has sunk and it feels like it will cost too much to reengage. I just want to sleep. It's like the only thing that's of interest to me right now (well, shoes and cocktails too). So I guess I know where I'm heading - into the maelstrom. And seriously, I don't care enough to stop it. (And that shit is for my other blog.) 

There's so much more work to do on the novel. People keep asking me if I was productive while away and I now it feels like I wasn't even though I WORKED EVERY FUCKING DAY APART FROM THREE. (And yes, I meant for that to be in caps; I didn't put on caps lock by mistake.) But it's shit. It's drafts. Nothing that I can say is done. In a way the month was almost a waste of time. At least back here when I produce a chapter a month it's a chapter that will go into the novel (subject to some editing).

I guess maybe I'm being a bit hard on myself. As usual. The chapters are done (subject to whatever happens in chapter 12, 13 and 14 before I can say chapter 15 and 16 (previously chapters 10 and 11) of course). But what with all the shit going on in my life right now it's not the best time to try to do this. But when is ever a good time? It shouldn't be this difficult; it shouldn't feel like such hard work. Why am I so lazy? 

Oh Mighty Sunk Cost Fallacy - am I going to let you win after all and admit that I'm committing you and sink this ship? Probably not. After all, I'm a stubborn bitch and what are Sundays for if not for writing and cocktails? And maybe sleeping...

My novel...

sucks ass.

That's what stepping away from it and thinking about it for ten days makes you realize.

Or maybe it's being sober for ten days.

So the answer, as always, is drink. Just drink.

Time's up

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.  

Making stuff up

Being a fulltime writer (yes, it is what I am at the moment) is bloody hard work. I'm totally exhausted at the end of the day. Yes, I am also not getting in bed by 11 every night and yes, I do have a cocktail (or even two) sometimes so I guess my current lifestyle isn't helping with the exhaustion. But late nights and booze produces a different type of tired than the draining after writing an entire day. 

Who knew making stuff up could be such hard work?

This is not a complaint though. I love being able to write all day and the tired feeling at the end of it has a sense of accomplishment in it, and pride too. Nothing like the brain meltdown from boredom after spending the day responding to emails from needy, annoying academics and writing policy - quite different indeed. 

On Monday I'm seeing my mentor who happens to be in NY too right now. I thought it would be a good opportunity to take stock and evaluate how my retreat went and maybe talk about next steps. And talk about how I can stay motivated and not get all my energy sucked up by that pesky "real" fulltime job. 

Because despite having said that I would put writing on ice until December, I have realized I will just have to just push on. I need to finish this. This is more important than anything else. 

One week to go with Tuesday being my last day (NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!). I reckon I have maybe 4 1/2 more writing days left (I might actually allow myself to take the weekend off - I'm getting inked, drunk and who knows what else) so I should be able to write at least one more chapter. A new chapter 10 it turns out as the current chapter 10 is now going to be chapter 11... Don't get me started.

And on that note, I am going to get back to completing today's minimum word count and make stuff up.