and now i'm... sad again? wtf, wip.
So, the project I'm currently working on has a history of just depressing the hell out of me. It's the one I'm doing that's kinda sorta WM3-based, and so naturally the research depressed the hell out of me, the writing of the first draft depressed the hell out of me, but I thought that maybe, piecing together the two versions of the first draft wouldn't, at least not as much. Because it's pretty much just an art project at this point.
Seriously, the past two days have seen me hunched over on my floor well into the night gluing and (later, when my gluestick ran out) taping scraps of paper together.
But it's like as soon as I stepped back into the world of this project, my chest hollowed out. You know? Where it's just empty inside. From part one. And part one's not even like, the really sad part. Maybe I've just been spoiled with my last first draft, the one I did over Christmas break, because even though that one did have some serious stuff, for most of the book, it was just Boy In Ohio in 2005? He Plays Hockey.
But even the serious stuff with that one didn't hit me as hard.
And like, I know that this one hits me harder because it is inspired/based on a real thing that actually does depress me, but I thought that maybe my heyday of being hopelessly depressed about this was over. Because I mean. It's not like they're still in prison or anything; the real guys, I mean. I can go on my phone and look at Instagrams if I want, and be like, okay, it's all fine. Except like, it still depresses me. For a lot of reasons. There are a lot of things about the entire case that depress the hell out of me, too many to go into, and that's transferred over to the document.
Tonight's my last night of cut-and-paste (tape), so tomorrow I start retyping. And then I start a real... third draft, I guess. I guess the Frankendraft is a Second.
Seriously, the past two days have seen me hunched over on my floor well into the night gluing and (later, when my gluestick ran out) taping scraps of paper together.
But it's like as soon as I stepped back into the world of this project, my chest hollowed out. You know? Where it's just empty inside. From part one. And part one's not even like, the really sad part. Maybe I've just been spoiled with my last first draft, the one I did over Christmas break, because even though that one did have some serious stuff, for most of the book, it was just Boy In Ohio in 2005? He Plays Hockey.
But even the serious stuff with that one didn't hit me as hard.
And like, I know that this one hits me harder because it is inspired/based on a real thing that actually does depress me, but I thought that maybe my heyday of being hopelessly depressed about this was over. Because I mean. It's not like they're still in prison or anything; the real guys, I mean. I can go on my phone and look at Instagrams if I want, and be like, okay, it's all fine. Except like, it still depresses me. For a lot of reasons. There are a lot of things about the entire case that depress the hell out of me, too many to go into, and that's transferred over to the document.
Tonight's my last night of cut-and-paste (tape), so tomorrow I start retyping. And then I start a real... third draft, I guess. I guess the Frankendraft is a Second.
Comments
Post a Comment