my least favorite parts of writing a novel are:
a] the very last go-over when I’m alternately weary with the manuscript and jolted with electric fear at seeing a character wearing yellow socks when a few pages earlier I’ve had them pulling on red ones
and where I am now, which is
b] the early roughing out when all my characters look like claymation figures and I’m still wondering where they’re all going.
at least I have been able to do a good bit of this here in amsterdam, looking over a canal, leading a much smaller version of my regular life.
