sonnie dee

It’s nearing midnight. I always work best once the sun has set. The calm of night keeps me focused.

On page 111 before I realized there are actually 177 pages, not 117. I was wondering why the remaining bit felt so thick.

I’ve taken a beat to contemplate a change to the end of chapter 25. It’s a sentimental chapter, but ends on a sour note. I’d like to make it more meaningful, connect back to something previous.

The working title for this novelette was “Being Virginia Woolf,” I’m not exactly sure why. Then I changed it to “Not My Fault,” for obvious reasons. Then to “Sour Grapes,” and now to “Last Words Are For Fools.” It’s inspired by Marx, which one might deem controversial, so I may not put too much weight on it. Though, in many ways, this book is a manifesto of my early-20’s. Naturally altered, but a chronicle nonetheless.

I really hope at least one person reads it and it means something to them.

I’ve been a writer since I was six. This has been my dream my entire life. It’s nice to be finished the first of what I hope to be many works to come. Why did it take me so long?

S.