Word Count: 32K – but who cares, really?

Okay, so have passed the halfway mark.

It’s supposed to get easier this week. And seeing as have 18K to go as opposed to 30K, guess in a way it is.

But now the excitement of story and character and fact that am attempting to write novel has settled, other questions perturb me.

So What? Who Cares? And What Is The Bloody Point?

At least when I post, somebody reads it and some wonderful souls leave comments.

But here I am, slogging away at some novel that have as many chances of seeing light of day as I have of running for Prime Minister of Australia.

Not to mention fact that am talentless, can’t write and well, can’t write.

So I finish Stupid Novel – which as we speak remains title-less – and prove to self can finish Stupid Novel. Big deal.

Will it stop domestic violence and violence in general amongst women?

Will it stop the spread of HIV/AIDS, the H1N1 virus, cure cancer?

Will it help reduce greenhouse emissions?

Will it bring an end to world poverty?

Will it do anything but satisfy my ego?

At least if I had become an accountant, I could have helped innocent tax payers save money and not-so-innocent dodge the tax system.

If I had become a doctor, I could have saved lives or at least write prescriptions for the common cold.

Even if I had become a divorce lawyer, I would have done more helping one person retrieve what’s theirs from the person they believed was the love of their life but turned out to be scum, than I would within the isolation of four walls, crouched over keyboard, banging out words that have no meaning and chances are, will make no difference to immediate environment or people or world in general.

So who cares and what is the goddamn point?