Because of the Frankenstein Monster nature of this thing, I can't see it as a story. So I have no feel for it. I can't surf it.
I'm as blind to this book and its arc and its tension and whether they work as I was when I started writing. It's not a book, it's a stack of parts that I put together following a chart. I can't feel the story. It's like trying to walk through traffic by looking in a mirror and wearing earplugs: nothing is natural. Everything is calculated and nothing is reflexive.
I have no idea if it works or not. I can't feel it in my head.
I'm not used to that, and I don't like it. And I don't very much like the book anymore, either, although my first readers seem pretty happy with it so far. Writers cannot judge their own work. I just keep telling myself that.
Maybe I should have just trunked the damned thing. Oh, wait, is that the subtle voice of post-novel ennui? Could be, rabbit.
Off to a rubber chicken dinner with the boy at GAMA momentarily. To add insult to injury, I have to drive down near the Strip. Bleh. So very not fun.
On the other hand, I really like this song.