Just call me His Anal-ness...

I'm not sure I'll want to send NWFO out for proofing and editing when I get done, tomorrow or Sunday. And I will be done. I've got 5 chapters left to rework, though one is rather extensive.

But I'm falling into my doubting phase and thinking maybe I need to do another pass to make sure all the changes work. It's my writer's paranoia firing up my anal-retentive need for a perfection that is impossible to achieve.

I'm also at a point where I honestly don't know if the story means anything. If all I'm doing is verbal vomit. Brendan's telling me to shut the fuck up because it's his story and not some bullshit performative nonsense about a man fighting gods and monsters, but that might be his ego talking. Little prick.

I dunno what it is with me, right now. I'm in a weird mood and that's probably why I'm so edgy about the story. I'm too close to it to be objective...hell, even subjective. So I'm still going to send it out and probably wait to get reaction before crashing and burning.

But I don't think I'll make my deadline of my next birthday for publishing. I want to be sure and not just in a surrendering mode. I've been at this for too damn long to just let the story make-do.

Oh, the photo is of downtown around 1976 or 1977, before the super-boom of building started.