Counting now around 50,000 words, I find myself mumbling, as I clack away on the laptop, 'Nobody likes this. Nobody will ever like this.'
That no-one has read it yet remains irrelevant. The whole exercise makes me want to grind my teeth and hit a table with something. One of the cats perhaps? Yegads. It would have to be stiff and therefore dead, so I don't go any further with that thought.
But then I watch and listen to Neil Gaiman, and I smile (it's a happy, though stupid smile). I smile with hopefulness. As Inky at Inside A Dog notes: This is the best idea EVER.
Literature for YA (Young Adults) and kidlets is so much fun. Even if more than half of it takes place in your own dear deluded head, the whole idea is that you will indeed connect with other same-head types. Or at least talk with types who like a good story.
Ok then. I will soldier forth towards the thing I'm soldiering towards. Yes.