Starving hysterical naked

Heroin

I've almost finished my novel. It's a story about young people doing drugs, progressing step by step to harder stuff until they find themselves being heroin addicts. I started writing it at fifteen, four years ago, and I'm not especially pleased with it. I just have to finish it before I can start writing my next book. I try to force myself to write 1000 words every day. When I've done the ending, I will edit the whole thing. Edit... and re-edit... until it makes me vomit.

Despite my complaints above, it's still better than many other books out there. In some dangerously optimistic moments I even like it. However, yesterday I saw a documentary called Black Tar Heroin. That made me want to delete my document (of 96 pages). Compared to the unbearable reality of the people pictured in the documentary, my book is just banal crap. Of course, I didn't delete the book. I haven't touched it since the documentary, though. I don't know if I will be able to stand looking at it again.

"There is more pleasure to building castles in the air than on the ground." - Edward Gibbon