Of notes, transcribed, some, most written, rewritten, again and again. 8X11 sheets of paper, 9 pt MS Sans serif font, paragraph between ideas.
It's formidable.
Edit it down and there's perhaps only 100 pages, still....
pages need to be snipped, taped, rearranged, there are chapters, verses, innumerable edits, revisions, rewrites....
How do people ever finish?
And yet, read what's out there, every Moron has written the history of their life as a bestseller....
It's daunting, this, and I forever procrastinate. This, the distillation of ideas too good, too rare for the blog, better things are planned for this, and I weigh them in my hands....
But I'm terrified of editing, revising, rewriting them. It's a lot of work. A huge amount of work. A necessary, huge and terrifying amount of work.
There are the pages of chapters, of notes to myself, of notes to myself on notes that I should write to myself, there are the pages that express and re-express the same sentiments over and over again, a hundred ways to phrase, which is the best? there are the notes on theme, style, structure, pages of questions, research, answers, more research, and I haven't even begun...
Thomas Pynchon did this all, and without a computer.
150+ pages, and I'd be closer if I started from scratch...