Scriptly Speaking

That Draft Novel is Staring at Me Again

So, I wrote a thing, a manuscript, a dystopian tale.

Here are 100 words about how it feels.

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They made me do it. The copywriters over there. Super-confident wordsmiths, the lot of them. They made it sound easy. Two bad pages a day. Yep, I can manage that. I have loads of bad pages up here {taps head}. Taps keyboard. Day after day. Eighty days precisely. Around The Plot in Eighty Days. Around the twist in eighty days, more like. Seventy-six thousand words. A start, a middle, and an end. A story. One hundred and sixty-one pages. Bad pages? Who knows. There they sit, of course, staring at me, asking me the unasked question. So, what happens next?

(100)