The First Novel I Ever Tried to Write

I’m excited to go on to something new, but just might go backwards instead. Back to the first novel I ever tried to write. I haven’t looked at it in more than two years. I’m a little scared to even open it up again. I don’t really know why. It’s not going to bite me or anything. But then, you never know. Drafts can be vicious and unpredictable.

After just finishing a novel, it could be that I don’t want to dive right back into another huge project. But then, I don’t like the idea that this other book has been sitting around for years either so I should probably just get back in there and finish it.

When I stopped writing the first book I ever tried to write, I thought it was about halfway done. That was before I knew about word counts and what they mean. It’s about 75,000 words. Pretty funny. These days, we’re supposed to be wrapping things up by then. I had no idea how long it was when I was writing it. I didn’t have a word count goal or anything like that. I just kept writing.

I told myself that I stopped writing it because of the research involved. I wanted to really research everything about the 1920s through the 1980s so that anyone reading it would feel like they’re living through all of it. I love research like that, so much so that I end up getting lost in time while doing more research than writing. So, I stopped and wrote another novel instead, something completely different.

This was supposed to get me into the mood to dive back into that first novel I ever tried to write, but I think it’s doing the opposite. Maybe I’ll try writing a short story instead…