Tip of the Quill: A Journal
The sound of a plotline deflating.

Rats. I just hit chapter 46 of The Da Vinci Code – a surefire way to tell when a novel is beach material: the chapter numbers run to 40, 50, 60, 120 – and one of my main plot devices just surfaced. Darn. Further, the author handled it fairly well, but he still made me wince with some shaky suspension-of-disbelief stuff. Which, of course, made me realize how ludicrous it would probably sound in my book. Back to the drawing board.
Maybe it’s time to write my Twentysomething novel instead. I’ve been considering doing a small genre hop, to write a Nick Hornby-esque book for twentysomething guys, but I’m not 100% convinced that I could do it justice yet. Somebody once told me that a surefire sign that things are awry in one’s life is the inclination to start doing stupid things just to have something to say at The Fray. The same can be said about living to have something to write about… But yet, isn’t that what writers have always done? Gone to sea, trekked into the Yukon, gone off in search of adventures, so that they can not only live better lives but collect better source material?
As always, I have more reading to do, more living to do, and a whole lot more writing to do.
(A brief aside: are any of you familiar with Aimee Bender? She popped up on my radar today as someone whose work I should read, but I have so many books on my list already… Is her stuff worth extending the list?)

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