I was warned about this feeling. I was told it was inevitable.
It's been the fate of damn near every storyteller in history.
As the days get colder and the nights get darker, I find myself spending more and more evenings working on my second novel, and as I do, I realize how many mistakes I made the first time around.
I mean, the typos alone. Fuck! How did I miss so many before publishing? WHY did I not run it through publishing one last time? WHY WHY WHY? Aaaahhhhhh!
I guess I'll come out with a second edition eventually, but until then, I HATE BASKETCASE!
I guess I don't hate it, exactly. It's more like that feeling when you look back at something you wore when you were a teenager and...
 | | |
| Seriously... What is this? Why? What was I thinking? |
It's kinda like that.
....
It's actually a lot like that...
But what can I do about it? I'll eventually take it out of print once I have the second edition ready, but until then...
I'm going to learn from it.
This time around, with this second book, things are different. Everything from pacing to the editing process to the patience within myself to tell the story in an overall better way, my plan is to take ever aspect of Basketcase that I DO NOT LIKE (and right now there are so, so many of those) and use it to make my second book, Mack and Penny C, a much MUCH better novel.
So maybe one day... I'll be able to look back at it and think...
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| Oh look The Wild Thornberry kids! Oh wait, that's me! I was cute! Wait... I was cute? I don't remember being cute. |
Maybe one day... but right now I simply don't like it.
Although I feel like it's supposed to be this way. At least for right now.
