I finished the first draft of the novel this weekend.
My, that was fun. I haven't actively enjoyed writing like this since I was about twenty-six. Haven't written anything so furiously either -- I was writing thirty pages a day there toward the end. I'd get up at four to write, I'd come home from work and write. Poor mr. delagar and the kid got wholly neglected. (I did manage to convince them not to interrupt me when I had the i-pod on. How, you wonder? By ripping the i-pod earphones off 7,500 times and roaring, "Did I or did I not say do not interrupt me when I am working?") Also the house and meals got wholly neglected. We've been living on mac and cheese and frozen pizza, fish sticks and buttered toast. The cupboard, I might add, is bare. Laundry is piled high. You do not want to venture into my back bathroom. (I kept the front one almost clean.) Also, I cut an inordinate number of office hours. (I formally apologize to any students reading this. I am not, however, actually sorry.)
As for the book itself, well, who knows. It is a science fiction novel about explotive class issues, laced with lots of gay sex, with a guy who has a passionate interest in geology at its center. I can't imagine there are many people out there who want to read such a thing. Well, me, obviously, or I wouldn't have written it. But I never know how good the book itself is at this stage. I did love writing the rock bits. Rocks are very cool.