I used to have a friend named Connelly, who explained the difference between faking a Scottish accent, and an Irish accent, was all in the word “time.”
“The Scottish,” say the word Toyme, he told me, “and the Irish, they say Teym.”
…Just thought you might like to know.
Five years ago, I started writing a comic book. It was my first time trying to sit down and finish anything of importance. Reams of yellow legal pad were sketched and written upon. Hours of Sundays were spent sneaking into my father’s office, just so I could use Final Draft to write in a script format.
I put it away a few times, and it kept coming back. Bubbling up to the surface in my personal history. I finally finished a draft of it three years later.
It’s been another two years, and that finished draft has been warped and expanded upon. It took five years, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
Now I have been working on this novel now, for, oh say, …eight months? Nine?
Almost a year, regardless. But It’s been four years since I first thought up the story…four years since I wrote it down, called up Connelly, and tried to confuse him with a rambling phone call about a story that didn’t even make sense yet.
It’s been four years since I thought it up. And it’ll be another three months before the first draft of the novel is finished. And, seriously, the time it needed to grow was so necessary. It’s grown so much..