Chicago Manual

Suddenly it seems to make sense, suddenly I'm not quite as lost anymore. I thought I didn't have a plan. I thought that I chose away education because of nothing but love, because of a bond I wanted to explore and that kept me swaying on the spot here. And indeed that was part of the reason, and I'm quite glad it was as well; however it was a big decision to make and I had many different arguments. One of them, was the novel.

One year away from any uni, taking jobs as I go and trying to make some sort of existence, I would live in the moment, and spend time working on the novel to get it ready for some kind of publication. Eloquent Books have required through their criticist that the manuscript be edited in accordance with the Chicago Manual of Style - a widely used system for written American English. It'd be hell lot easier to just hire some editor to do the work for me (two pairs of eyes better than one) but with funding, as you know, quite insufficient; I'm forced to do the editing myself. This was rather frustrating until today, when Al got me a wonderful PDF file - the manual itself, scanned and complete at 2600 pages length. Slightly intimidating, perhaps; the sheer size of the thing; but so far it has been a trumendous help. I cannot thank Al enough.

Anyway, it was earlier today that I realized I have spent perhaps too much time doing other things, when I was supposed to use this time off from school and other things to focus, get myself together, and pull this whole deal off. I think that maybe I can do it. I think that when I finally hold that copy in my hand, I will tremble, I'm gonna fucking break down when I think about all the damn work that has been behind it. It's gonna be such a fucking relief. Oh my goodness... it gets only harder and harder to grasp, to actually imagine... but I have to.

I kept writing, when no one thought I could pull it off, when people told me to lay off it, that it had no future, that it was never meant to be more than a hobby. I kept at it, and many frustrated times, many drunk times, many high times, many low times, it literally saved me. Getting completely immersed with another universe, letting the words form themselves as you note them down, it's... beautiful. And even if no one reads it, it will have served its purpose. It gave me calm. It salvated me.

And to be honest... this dump? My writing is all I'm good at. My writing is my ticket out of here.
No more messing that up...
POET in the DREAMY JAR