I am a novelist

Check it out: 50,327 words. I did it. I wrote a 50,000 word novel in a month. Actually, that is a lie: I wrote a 50,327 word novel in 23 days due to completely failing to write anything until the first weekend of November.

So... uh... there we are.

I should count myself fortunate that the workload at my current temp job was a bit slack so I was able to churn out about 1,000 words during the day. They are giving me more work to do next week so it is lucky that I have finished tonight.

So, how does it feel to complete the challenge? It feels good. It has been an hour or so since I wrote my final word and the initial buzz has faded a bit now. But, yeah, I've written a novel... in a stupidly short space of time. At least I now know I can write a novel. I am also spared the disappointment of quitting after reaching 25,000 words like I did last year.

If this all sounds a bit vague then what can I tell you? Like most things in life, the anticipation of the conclusion is more exciting, exhilarating and satisfying than the conclusion itself. I'm happy that I won the challenge and relieved it is over but, you know, what next? Life goes on.

But is the novel any good? It's not bad, I think; a bit of a mess but what do you expect from a first draft written in 23 days? The ending is rather weak. This is funny because it was the idea of this final scene that drove me to write the story I wrote in the first place. In the event, the ending just limps along in the wake of some stronger stuff that precedes it, stuff I didn't plan in advance but just made up as I went along. Oh, the irony. Never mind: that's something I can worry about when I revise the thing.

I'll tell you what, though: I am so glad to have a free evening ahead of me. I don't have to sit down and write for a couple of hours. I can bum around and do nothing.

Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to drink a beer and watch some crap TV.