As of this moment, I have 1,525 words. To keep in step with the standard progression, I have to write something like 1,667 words a day in order to reach 50,000 in thirty days. Yes. Despite wanting to erase it all, I'm pressing on. According to the rules, you are going to want to do the former and the latter is the best course of action to take. For reasons unknown to myself, I have all the motivation in the world not to give up on this novel that I'll probably want to throw in the garbage at the end of this month, but I have no drive to approach the things that I should be motivated to do: my 10-page art history research paper, for example.
My story is boring. Things are happening, but I don't have any logical narrative explanation for why they're happening. What's happening is actually defying the laws of physics, and I'm afraid I don't know enough about physics (or writing, for that matter) to pull this off, but I'm risking it for the sake of not getting trapped into writing literary drivel. Because then I think, Oh, would Catch like this? Is this good enough? and I don't want to do that anymore. I've done that long enough and it hasn't gotten me anywhere, except making me write less over the course of my four years here than any other creative writers, most likely. Okay. Enough whine.
I want to do something strange with the narrator, who could be me and could be someone else. I don't just want a linear progression of story. I want side-stories. Maybe narrator tangents. Shit's going to get postmodern, guys.
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