3-Day Novels Are, Well, Novel.

Today I finished reading the first drafts of the 3-Day Novels Melissa sent over, oh, a month ago. They sat on the floor in their blue satchel for a while.  Baxter clawed them and poked at them and finally conquered them by sleeping on the bag of them. I moved them. I cleaned around them. I penciled time into my day to read them, over and over,  and I didn’t read them.

Part of it was diving into the unknown. I sometimes hate trying a new author, because what if they suck? So why did I volunteer to cold-read ten unknowns? Dunno, Bob.

Part of it was, what if they’re better than me? I mean, why aren’t I writing a Three-Day every year? (Answer: I like sleep. And procrastination.)

But this week I totally got down to it. And it was…kind of fun. The homoerotic stream-of-consciousness fetish fantasy was eye-opening, for sure. Pretty sure psychotropics kept that guy going.  But props to the young woman with the narrative-weaving skills and extensive knowledge of group grief counseling. The space dragons were pretty good, too. Elfin life-coach was fun. Was that the one with the banana yogurt? It all fades so fast.

It made me wonder how much these people planned for their novels, and what they thought they were going to do with them later. Also, if they showed them to anyone else, and what those people thought. I hope they were kind with their input. Oh, and I hope that Fetish Boy came down off his high safely.

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