After an hour and a half of reading my novel draft, making notes, and doing research, my eyes look like that. I take breaks to look out of the window of the coffee place, noticing how many people seem to mutter to themselves on their way to the subway. I try not to audibly exclaim over how good my chai latte is. Sometimes I feel weird about things like writing “chai latte” on my blog, but you know. Life.
I’ve been scribbling corrections and notes in my little novel printout, but not as many as I was expecting. If I’m being honest, I find it a little strange. This is my first novel – everything I’ve heard has made me believe I’m supposed to think it’s junk, put it away and never look at it again, shudder when I think about it. I mean, I know it needs work. I need to develop certain characters and delve more deeply into some things. But I actually like it. I don’t feel I need to forget it ever happened.