I try not to talk too much about my current works-in-progress, but one big project I've embarked on is a six-part miniseries taking place in 1880's California. There are supernatural and steampunk elements, which can definitely make it more fucked up than Bonanza and Gunsmoke, but I digress. My big happy moment is that I'm almost done with the first draft of the first book of the series! Huzzah! True, I'm not even 50% done with the series, but I put a dent in it, one that nearly cost me my sanity over these past couple of months, but it's nearly done nonetheless!
We won't talk about the edits. Those are going to be a bitch, especially after I unleash this beast upon my poor readers. I also already know there are plot holes and things that aren't going to make a lick of sense (especially having acquired better ideas along the way and not going back to weave them in just yet), but fuck! I'm done with Book 1!
I might be a wee bit sad when I close the curtains on this "episode," especially given everything that had happened since writing the first sentence back in October (yes, I've been working on this for more than six months - shut up). In that time, I've moved to Spain. I went through a rigorous TEFL program, during which I wrote merely a few paragraphs in a span of a month. I also underwent the equally grueling process of finding a job that wasn't all the way out in the 'burbs. Never mind the fact that I also needed to move to a new apartment during that time, have traveled, and had to deal with all manner of drama.
Now I have a job. I just picked up four extra hours per week. I also have a place to live. I've traveled to Italy and France (oh Paris! How I love thee!), the latter of where I had an interesting...ahem...experience with a frenchman who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer and even told me he was going to come find me at my hotel (which is story material - huzzah!). I also had to deal with more nonsense from men right here on home turf, from the Californian who turned out to be a douche-waffle to "AC Slater" who is giving me too many mixed signals and too much false hope. (Personally, I prefer either being solidly single or solidly in a relationship - this in-between does-he-like-me-when-is-he-going-to-call-what-if-i-blew-it-by-texting-him-what-i-thought-was-an-inside-joke-is-he-seeing-someone-else-or-someone-prettier-why-do-i-keep-getting-my-hopes-up bullshit sucks, y'all.) I'm still hella homesick. I miss so many American foods and American conveniences (like Walgreens, for example, where I can buy Frozen stickers or Essie nail polish when I pick up my birth control or wait for photos to develop). I also miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss my mom's cats' stupid faces. It's getting better. A lot better. But it's still a struggle.
All the while, this book has been with me. I know I'm going to cry like a bitch when I pen the last sentence, especially if one of the closing scenes ends the way I think it's going to (it's outlined, but sometimes surprises crop up along the way).
And I think it's time I close the curtains on this journal entry. Man, I'm feeling emotional tonight. Writing and men and shark week and homesickness will do that to ya.