#and it has the same word count as jane austen's emma which i only discovered after i finished writing it
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so, the most recent novel i managed to actually finish writing, three long years ago, was the book of my absolute lifelong dreams and most of the time i just leave it sitting on my computer and pretend it doesn't exist because i feel too tenderly about it and i'm too proud of it and it's agony to me. these feelings are, for whatever reason, unbearable hell. but like once a year i work up the courage to reread it, and every time i'm like, "god DAMN! who wrote this?? this is exactly what i've wanted to read my whole life!!!!!!! it's simply delightful!" and then i remember that oh yeah, it's me!
#i feel like i should vow to try to query this thing like 50 times just because i love it so much and i owe it to my own love of it#and then when i get rejected because it's 155k and that's insane (but it NEEDS TO BE!) i can at least say i tried#i don't get what it says about me that i wrote the book of my dreams and now i'm too embarrassed so i pretend it doesn't exist#instead of trying to get it published#as it is apparently my lifelong goal to be a published novelist#why is my brain wired this way!??!?!?!?!#i think i'm just too scared that everyone else will hate it and it will hurt my feelings too much because it's so me#it is truly and completely my sweet little baby#and it has the same word count as jane austen's emma which i only discovered after i finished writing it#fate!!!!!!!#dollsome's deep thoughts#it's my birthday so i'm allowing myself this really self-indulgent post#getting older and still never being a (non-self-) published novelist: the story of me
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