No Turning Back Now

I've always had horrible timing. Many a time my frustrated piano teacher would force hours of practice with a metronome upon me to correct my out-of-step and wildly accelerating Easy Piano Classics. There's a joke among my friends about "Abby Time"; they all know that a text saying "I'm leaving now!" means they still have a good ten minutes before my foot steps out the door.

But all these domestic timing incidents merely served to distract me as I blundered into the worst timing mistake of my life: committing to finish a novel during my senior year of high school.

Historically, novels are meant to be written in the twilight of a well-lived life, or in the chaotic alcohol-infused twenties when schedules are flexible and nights are long (a la Fitzgerald; you'll be hearing a lot about him), or on the sly as a relief from a steady but boring job. I think there is a reason novels are rarely written in the stressful, confusing, and often panic-attack inducing days of high school.

I've begun a streak of taking reason out back and beating it with an oversized pencil. I can't think of any logical reason, for example, that I couldn't have put off writing a novel until college, or after college, or any other time in my life.

I really can't think of a logical reason I decided to commit so fully to this idea that a grade now rests upon its successful completion.

Despite much whining and wringing of hands, though, what's done is done. Despite never completing anything over ten pages, for my senior project in high school, I am going to write a novel of at least 50,000 words, design a cover for it, and try not to scrap the whole thing during the editing process (as I am wont to do). And I'm going to get an A on it.

And, in a masochistic twist that I think befits Fitzgerald in a fashion that pleases me, I'm going to add to my writing load by blogging about it- in full sentences and proper spelling and everything (gone are the Tumblr days)!

Hopefully yours,

Abby