I finished that something long, it took me about a month. It’s about one hundred pages. Not long long, but not short either, and it’s certainly the longest thing I’ve ever written. You hear about other books when you mention yours, and sometimes other opening lines. “I should have forbade her” is the worst one I’ve heard.
I don’t know what to think of what I’ve written. In my head it congeals and boils down, and it’s hard to find it in an exact place. I’ll know in a month, when I read it again. I’ll know when I can fit it in my head in a way that suggests it wasn’t written by me. Things I have trouble with even then, I’ll know from you. The ones who I ask and who want to, I mean.