The End is Near

I am over 200 pages into my first novel. Almost every single word I've written, every chapter laid out, is garbage. Complete and total garbage. Some of the writing is so incredibly bad that I have to check my genitals for hair to make sure that I am no longer a prepubescent 10 year-old.

Still, I'm approaching the end of a labor that has taken me over a year. Granted, that isn't a very long time, but still, that's a pretty firm commitment from my end.

I am both excited and sick at the same time. I'm excited because I've never created anything on this type of scale. Sick because I now have to reorganize and filter out all the various loads of shit that I have written down over the last year. Okay, it isn't all shit, and my fiance routinely tells me that the ratio of shit to good stuff is much more favorable than I am expressing.

Here's the ratio that I envision:

This is more realistic, I guess:

That may not seem like much of a difference, and it isn't. Either way, I'm pretty much screwed, until I can start editing and turning a piece of poop into a slightly less pungent piece of poop.