One more week to go, and if you’re not sick and tired of the stupid thing at this point, I question whether you’re human.
My book? No, things are okay. I guess. I mean, I totally love my book and everything, but…it’s not quite as clever as I thought. Yeah, like yesterday? I came home and read page 367, and…it wasn’t very good. In fact, it was trite and it had stubble all over the page and there were dirty socks on page 45 right where my favorite part about the dog who speaks in limericks used to be and the TV was left on again. Battlestar Galactica reruns. Oh, I feel kinda bad saying this about my book, but, you know what? (whispers) I think it might be stupid. Don’t tell.
— Libba Bray, “Writing a novel, a love story”