HADN’T REALIZED I’D TWEETED forty or so times about talking to my novel. Sure it’s a far cry from the 935 tweets that make up Small Places (Twitter novel I tweeted between 2008-2010. Read some on The Nervous Breakdown).

Me: You like being a second draft? Novel: I don’t feel as crazy-eyed. Now what? Me: I read you aloud. Novel: Aren’t there laws against that?

— Nick Belardes (@nickbelardes) December 19, 2013

Still, my battle with my novel makes up a lot of tweets with a similar theme. Flash fiction. Dialogue intense. Comedic mostly. They get favorited and retweeted more than most tweets I write (I complain a lot about my sports teams losing, oh, and about writing too).

I gathered all the tweets I could find related to me talking to my novel and saw there was a starting point (maybe you could mine my tweets and find a different root cause). Looks like I was having some anxiety over revisions and just started anthropomorphizing my novel, “Big Spoon, Little Spoon,” as if it were causing me grief, both mentally and physically.

Currently, I’m about thirty pages shy of my second draft. Haven’t touched revisions in nearly a week. Mostly due to health problems with my stomach. When the stomach doesn’t work, I don’t work much.

In the meantime, and throughout long days during revisions, I find comedy helps. It helps when I feel the burden of needing to sell the manuscript. It helps when I need to feel accomplished. It helps when I realize there’s a long road ahead, but an eventual end too. And, if you didn’t know, tweeting dialogue helps you develop punchy exchanges between characters.

Self-depricating humor between a man and his novel can’t hurt my ego. I don’t pretend writing is easy. My novel does beat me up. I try to be transparent about the process on social media. Gray hair, after all, has to come from more than just being a parent, more than just coping with what life normally dishes out.

Here’s a list of the rest of my comedy tweets regarding the novel . . .

Dec. 16

Novel: Make me the star of one of your dumb articles. Me: Hold still. Novel: I’m fun. Me. I’m revising. Novel: I’m your only friend. Me: No.

Dec. 11:

Novel: Why were you in the hospital? Me: My stomach. Novel: Did I . . . ? Me: Probably. Novel: Are you gonna be . . . Me: Probably.

Dec. 9

Novel: You’re almost done with my second draft. Me: There’ll be a few more. Novel: It’s okay. At least one of us can lose some weight.

Dec. 6

Novel: Tonight I party like I’m from Hell. Me: Are you ever calm? Just go to bed. Novel: I’m conflicted! My words! My words! Me: Goodnight.

Dec. 5

Novel: What we doin’ today? Me: Gonna check you for chapter worms. Novel: My scenes are itchy. And look at my tongue: aughh. Me: No licking!

Dec. 2

Novel: What’s with the stomachache? Me: Your fault. Novel: The headache? Me: You. Novel: Anxiety? Me: You again. Novel: I’m happy.

Dec. 1

Me: Happy December. Novel: I have a long Xmas list. In fact, I want to be at least 1-million words. Me: You get 90,000 and a tricycle.

Nov. 30

Me: Can’t revise right now. Novel: You hate me. Me: I’m tired. Novel: I call it hate. Me: It’s a goddam nap. Novel: Sleep when you’re dead.

Nov. 27

Me: Happy Thanksgiving. Novel: Whatever. You’re the turkey. Me: Be thankful. Novel: Okay. Cigarettes and beer . . . and curse words. Thanks.

Nov. 27

Novel: Oh this isn’t so bad. I can see why chapter 22 has been stopping up my flow. ‪#health‬ ‪#xray‬ ‪http://instagram.com/p/hOf-VeHSc4/ ‬

Nov. 27

Novel: Nooo!! Xray tech: He’s a squirmy fella. Me: Sedate him! ‪#xray‬ ‪#novel‬ ‪http://instagram.com/p/hOcqj5HSW_/ ‬

Nov. 27

Place your novel here, sir. We want to see your story from the inside. ‪#hospital‬ ‪#xray‬ ‪#health‬ ‪#doctor‬… ‪http://instagram.com/p/hOcX0CHSWi/ ‬

Nov. 26

Me: You got chapter seven critiqued. Novel: I’ve seen better days. Me: They liked your dialogue. Novel: They abused my character.

Nov. 25

Novel: Go to bed. Me: I’m still revising. Novel: You’re all over my middle chapters. Giving me the creeps. Me: Just hold still.

Nov. 23

Me: What you watchin’? Novel: Some good drama. Me: Something with well-developed conflict? Novel: Babes of CSI. It’s a special episode.

Nov. 22

Grey, wet day in the city. Leaves everywhere. Watery streets. So far the novel still waits on the table for me to pounce.

Nov. 22

Me: Good morning. Novel: I need something to calm my nerves. Me: I can cut a few paragraphs. Novel: Why is this always your solution?

Nov. 19

Me: No. I don’t want to. Novel: Quit being a pussy. Revise me. Me: I wrote too many notes for corrections. Novel: Fine. Let’s try yoga.

Nov. 18

Me: What you doing? Novel: Watching Netflix. Some documentary about a writer who can’t stop complaining so he starts talking to his book.

Nov. 18

Me: Drink this. Novel: Not thirsty. Me: Now drink it. Novel: Oh damn that’s good in a margarita. What was in it? Me: A laxative.

Nov. 17

Me: How was your Saturday night? Novel: It’s not Saturday? Me: That’s my copy of Great Expectations you just rolled into 600 cigarettes.

Nov. 14

Me: I need to revise you. Novel: I’m busy. Call me tomorrow. Me: You’re just standing there looking at your words in the mirror.

Nov. 12

Novel: Revise me. Me: Hold on. Novel: Procrastinator! Me: Hold on. Novel: Right now! Me: Hold on. Novel: Writers are stupid.

Nov. 11

Me: Get back in your bed. Novel: It’s dark in here. Me: Have you seen your pages? Novel: You did this to me. I need light therapy.

Nov. 10

I find my novel in the gutter, covered in leaves. Me: What are you doing? Novel: Nothing you haven’t wished on me. Me: You’re stupid.

Nov. 7

Novel: Seriously? A rainstorm? Me: Part of you needs to be rainy. Novel: Isn’t you crying over me enough?

Nov. 7

Novel: You hardly touched me today. Me: I don’t feel good. Novel: Think how incomplete I feel. Me: Revise yourself then. Novel: You hate me.

Nov. 4

Novel: Gonna party all night. Me: Be quiet. Novel: Gonna get Kindled. Me: Just go to sleep. Novel: Nookie. Me: Shut it.

Nov. 4

Novel: You don’t make me any money. Me: Are you smoking in the house? You don’t make me any money. Novel: I’m a novel. Me: I’m a novelist.

Nov. 4

Novel: What’s wrong with me having 48 chapters? Me: Nothing. Novel: You hate me. You’re calling me fat.

Nov. 3

Novel: It’s Sunday! Me: So? Novel: We can go smoke in the park with the losers and spray graffiti. Me: Don’t you have enough conflict?

Nov. 2

Novel: wake up. Me: I just went to bed. Novel: I’m thirsty. Me: Your words will smear.

Oct. 28

Just kicked my novel in the nuts for no reason.

Oct. 27

Novel: Really? You’re going to use a pencil? Me: I make lots of mistakes. Novel: I know.

Oct. 27

On chilly mornings my novel gets up before me, shoves cold pages into my slippers, and smokes out on the patio while I try to figure it out.

Oct. 26

I keep a rolled-up newspaper nearby just to snap my novel on the snout once in a while for no reason.

Oct. 26

Novel lying on couch as I watch football: Revise me. Me: You just want me to touch you.

Oct. 26

This novel gonna jump up and streak naked through the yard the second I let go.

Oct. 26

Don’t know about you but my first drafts belong on the Island of Misfit Fucked-Up Novels.

Oct. 14

After months of writing through illnesses, by staying driven, finished first draft Big Spoon, Little Spoon. 83,642 words. Now for revisions.

Oct. 14

Sometimes writing anxiety makes me freeze in the headlights.
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