So I'm writing a second novel. 70,000 words in at this point. Why so soon, you might ask. Have I marketed the first one? No. Not really. I revised it a couple of times but nothing too spectacular. By the looks of this third revision, I saw less than I thought and changed less than I should have. I'm punishing my wife with the task of reading it and noting errors and things that don't make sense.
She's doing it right now. Think she might be done though. She just waved about fifty pages at me with a sense of accomplishment (Can't hear-headphones). Not 50 published pages either. These were 50 manuscript pages which equate to about 75 when formatted correctly. Not a bad bit of reading for a few hours.
So why so soon...Well. Because I don't care. About anything really, much less whether I do what everyone else would want. I really just want to write. Revision is necessary. And so is submission if you ever want to get published, but when you work a real job, a professional job, you don't have time for such things. You barely have time to write. If you took the time to smell the roses, you'd probably end up waking up next to them dead. Hell, you might end up next to them anyways. Or under them. There's really no guarantees.
