...for now, at least. I have finished my insane NaNoWriMo project, finally coming in at 50,615 words. And it is utter shit.
I one day (next year?) hope to re-write it into something resembling a fun, half-decent and vaguelly compelling story (Ha!) but in the meantime, I can finally get some proper sleep now that this literary albatross has been removed from around my neck.
But Shit, it is. The main character is a miserable charm-free zone (I refuse to divulge my inspiration for him other than saying 'It's me'.) Far more interesting characters simply appear from nowhere then vanish, never to be heard of again. The final chapter is slightly ambiguous and resolves nothing, and there is a historical sub-plot which seems to serve no real purpose, and is by-and-large hugely inaccurate (did people send each other texts in 19th century Tsarist Russia?)
It's not particularly funny either, which is a bit of a black mark for a lighthearted romp.
So I'm not too sure what to do. It's extremely dialogue heavy and feels like a script with occasional rambling prose at times. The thought of fleshing out all these characters I know very little about, of adding and removing chapters, of trying to tell a story I'm not too sure has any real point, other than me being able to say to women in trendy wine bars that I'm a published author (See 'Ha!', above), fills me with utter abject fear.
Other than that, it's fucking great.