[caption id="" align="alignright" width="160" caption="Mmmm... James Dean as my protagonist."]

Anyways... Lately, The Courier is like a relationship with your teenage child. You love and nurture him from the very beginning, but towards the end of his teens, he’s lucky he’s still alive. The only saving grace is when he receives his first acceptance letter to a college, and you realize it's only a short while before you can boot his ass out the door. In the case of my novel, throwing it in the fireplace and burning every last stinkin’ bit of it would be more than satisfying at the moment. But yesterday, Steve said, "never throw anything away," and that’s some really valuable advice. Especially five seconds into the burning, when I jump into the flames to save Barry, Nina and all their evil friends.
I guess it’s normal to have a love/hate relationship with your novels. And, I suppose this phase of writing the damn thing was inevitable. Remember me saying I started writing The Courier as a fun experiment, not really taking it seriously. Now, six months later, I'm so freakin' wrapped up in the story line and characters, I can see them all glaring at me from across my desk, disappointed I'm not moving their lives along quicker.
[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="191" caption="Go get him, Michael"]

So where am I now? Still organizing chaos, like I was a couple weeks ago. It's getting easier though. I've rewritten the ending, lengthening it and twisting in more conflict for a better flavor. Took me a few months to really figure it out though, which is frustrating considering I had hoped to have the first draft completed by now.
On a good note, I got a couple reminders from friends that things could be much worse, one being a ridiculous ad, posted by a not so nice individual, looking for writers to edit 500 word articles for $1.25 a piece. Yeah, I'll take my troubles with my novel over that work any day.