Ok, not this matters to anyone else, I am just using this as a sounding board to put my anxiety and fear out into the universe and hopefully far away from me. . .
I had lunch with TB two days ago, which was wonderful. We were talking about writing, and I was asking him about how to find publishers, etc. I told him I had about 160 some pages right now, typed, and that I figure I have about sixty or more to go. He asked what my word count was. I had no idea, I also had no idea that is mattered.
Apparently, it does. I have searched all over the Internet for word counts. Novels are supposed to be between 25,000-150,000 to be taken seriously by publishers (unless you are an established writer, then you can do whatever the hell you like). Right now, I am a little over 106,000 words (which is roughly the size of the third book of Harry Potter (Azkaban), so nearly 400 pages!!! (I thought I had a little over 200.) This would be perfect if I was almost done. However I still have nearly a third left, if not more.
The thought of editing out so much is heartbreaking, and the fact that I am seemingly rambling on incessantly is making me look at my book (I think I can officially call it a book now, if it is that long—good or not) and wonder what’s wrong with it and if it doesn’t have a clear plot. . .
I wish I hadn’t thought about it, it is almost crippling. Really. I am not going to, but it is honestly the closest I have ever been to just giving up. I could just be watching TV for my summer break or drawing or something that isn’t quite so tiring. It is wonderful, and I love it, but it really is work. I don’t want to do all this for nothing or have to trash so much of what I have put into it.
So, there you go universe, take my fear and stress and eat it for lunch. Let me get back to writing and exploring my people’s lives.
(This was 308 words. Maybe I can get this published instead!)