The Novel Project (Resurrected)

I ‘m writing a novel again. I’ve tried to write it before. I know. For some of us this is like saying I’ve joined Weight Watchers again. What is different now? I no longer care how I lose the weight, what my smaller body actually looks like. I no longer care if it is bad. I just want it to exist. It feels hard, not romantic, not fun, not like “Oh I’m writing a novel” which really means looking at the tops of trees and pondering life.

It feels like moving bags of concrete from one place to another. Swimming, Stairmaster, Caloriecounter. My arms hurt at the end of the day. And my neck. And my head—the inside, the outside—my whole head. It is still one of the hardest things I have ever tried to do.