The second draft of The Dead Takes The A Train is out to its editors, and I’m exhausted. I ended up rewriting the entirety of it over the course of a one and a month, stripping out the prose and keeping the foundations of it. The book, which started at around 90k-ish, has since chonkified into a hefty 120,000 words.
120, 000 words.
A month and a half ago, you’d have been lucky if you could have coaxed 25,000 words out of me. I’m spent.
I’m still spent.
It didn’t help that the building manager in my old apartment decided they’d make my exit from the premises a fucking nightmare. (They let themselves in to begin cleaning before I finished moving out, and continued with their cleaning even though I went, ‘excuse me, but what the hell?’ And god, do not get me started on how the building manager kept saying ‘they’re only cleaning the bathroom’ when I twitchily pointed out at her that they’d let themselves in again that second time.)
There were some things stolen too. But they were mysteriously found after the building manager realized I was serious about filing a police report and lodging a complaint to the rental board.
Gosh, isn’t the world full of mysteries?
I haven’t been reading much, but that’s slowly changing. I’m re-reading C. S. E. Cooney’s beautiful Twice-Drowned Saint, which is part of a quartet of tales collectively named A Sinister Quartet. As always, Cooney’s work is revitalizing when I’m in these conditions, a spark of flame kindling my own creativity and love for words.
I’m also still deep in my Midjourney bullshit.
I had something more pithy to say but it’s gone now. I am just too tired for words. I hope y’all are doing well though.
Please have a weirdo cat.
My heart react is for the 120,000 words and the weirdo cat, but definitely not for the abuse of the building manager and the rest.
What a nightmare.
But also, congratulations on the novel revision!
AND we are eager to welcome you home to New York!