A few weeks ago I started writing a novel. This is pretty unusual for me. I normally can’t get through more than 2000 words on any one subject before I am so thoroughly bored with it that I want to stab my eyes out. And that’s on non-fiction. Fiction gets much worse. I am known for writing “prosetry”, short bits of things that aren’t poetry but also that are much too pared down and direct to be prose.

So I got tired of all the magical teenage pregnancy stories out there. And I decided I was going to write something a bit closer to the truth. It’s coming along. Slowly, but I broke the 2000 word mark and I’m still excited about it, so that’s something. The plot seems to be working itself out in my head, but it’s taking a bit more brain space than I expected. Ouyangdan says it sounds a bit like a Jodi Picoult novel, but I think it’s going to turn out a bit more like Lynda Barry.

Anyways, wish me luck. I’m not gone, just distracted.