Editing the Master’s Thesis

It’s a pretty unique sensation, opening up a 43,000 word novel that you wrote 3 years ago. Emotions from the gamut from “Can’t cut too much, because nobody buys novellas,” to “Wait, what’s this metaphor supposed to mean?” to “I thought I was fairly healthy and well-adjusted at this point in time, but due to the number of violent deaths and missing limbs, I find myself forced to reevaluate that notion,” to “Is the plot coming yet?” to “Did I write the same scene twice and just not realize it?” to “I’m really tired of my own made-up verbiage, and why do I keep comparing everything to eggs?” to “Good Lord, there is no plot. None whatsoever. Perhaps I can pass this off as pretentious writing — you know, the sort I hate, in which nothing occurs…” to “I’m going to copy-and-paste all needless metaphors into a separate Word document to watch that Word document grow and grow,” to “Urg. Not a speck of plot,” to “Why did I think it was a good idea to have a central character in a coma?”

Still currently reading — and will be for some time:

Little Dorrit

 

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