I find myself battling that old monkey on my back.
The first novel. Like a thing of horror it grew from a wretched short story I wrote in high school. It just kept getting bigger and bigger and then a novel was born. I hacked at it with a machete sending great swaths of ichor trailing gore into the brush but like the hydra it regrew.
It's still here. It demands one more shot to prove it's worth.
Was it because I didn't use holy water that I couldn't break the beast?
Its about vampires and demons and ghosts and mages and therianthropes. Just a few of my favorite things.
I finished editing chapter 6 tonight.
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