BEAT BEATNIK BOOMER, SILENTLY COLLAPSES

Nine more chapters of rewriting of Ghoul World remain. The senior dizziness departed after three days of it. Felt better today as I made revision decisions. Learned something new about self today. I'm on the 3rd rewrite of Ghoul World, and as the final 9 of 48 chapters appear before me, I'm growing bored with the process. Same thing happened near the end, during the 2nd rewrite of Ghoul World. What does this signify, I wonder? 

Disappointment. My novel takes place in a world where a type of necrotizing fasciitis infects all humans. They now call themselves ghouls to distinguish themselves from Irishers (red heads) who are immune from the disease. I just learned that The Maze Runner somewhat employs a plague that creates zombies. Of course, my Earth people aren't zombies. They're just rotting. In the final stages of the plague, they become irrational and dangerous, but this is when the disease begins to attack the brain after a lifetime of merely rotting flesh.

NOVEL BEATNIK CLOTHING AND SINGER SEWING MACHINES

Grandma (left) and Grandpa Thomas and his mother

Aargh! That's right ... aargh! This morning, I realized, for the sake of plausibility, I had to make a change in the novel. It had to do with Irishers and wild humans. That change led to another change. By using the search and change function, the changes were easy to make, but, now, uncertainty and doubt arise. I'm not sure that my changes aren't creating other implausible situations. I try to think through the novel, but can't think clearly enough. I could start at the beginning again and read through the first 200+ pages just to make sure the alterations haven't made the pants too short for the legs ... OR ... I can plow ahead and complete the suit, wait for the first read through that follows the completion of the whole novel. But, I think, alarmed, waiting might allow other plot complications to build up until the entire novel is distorted. The situation is complicated by the fact I took several days off to drive up to Seattle to practice dancing with my daughter for her upcoming wedding. I'm starting this morning with a cold sewing machine motor. Which reminds me of my grandmother who had a Singer that had a foot pedal. When I lived with her and Grandpa Thomas, I recall her toiling away, pumping that foot pedal and sewing complete novels of suits and dresses. Sneakily, I hope my mention of Irishers and wild humans gets your attention about the novel.