I finished the roughest draft of a novel I’ve ever roughed out in a rough world. It is so rough that I couldn’t bring myself to write Pacifica: first draft at the beginning of the notebook–instead I titled it Pacifica notes. It’s a ridiculous mix of fatuous underwriting and deep purple gasbaggery. But, if you don’t mind characters appearing, disappearing, and changing gender midway through, it’s also a finished draft.
So far as I can tell, I wrote about 60,000 words–shorter than Stranger Bird, but still a novel. I would guess there are 15,000 words I’ll toss out immediately and maybe that many new words to add. And it’s still too early to tell whether it will ever amount to anything.
But, while I feel more exhausted than excited, it does feel at least a little good to have a story of that scope and sweep, and with a beginning, middle, and end on paper.