Oh, novel, I have neglected you. I make excuses: "I moved." "I am working three jobs." "I have gone blind and my right hand was tragically amputated. Well, that's not exactly true, but it a metaphoric sense..."
I am armed with a frozen pizza, a case of beer, and a carton of ice cream. I have been reworking the plot, and I have completely recast my main character. Once bland, flat characters have reemerged as their quirky and exciting twins.
I am going in for the second draft of my novel. Maybe Portland has inspired me. Maybe I just need one more thing to worry about. Who knows? Chris Baty style, I am about to churn out a second draft in 30 days. Why? Because I need a deadline.