The Side Effects of Endorphins

I am not a novelist. I wrote a novel many years ago and it is about 350 pages long. The entire book takes place during eight days in Portland, Oregon during a hyperbolic out of proportion snowstorm.

For many years the entire story sat without an ending as I could not figure out how to end the book appropriately.

I don’t know how to manage 350 pages. To spell and grammar check 350 pages takes half a day. I’ve had two chapters reproduced and published as short stories..

About two years ago, I actually finished the book and wrote an ending. The weird thing about this book is that I wrote it as taking place in the year 2005 and wrote in a hyperbolic fashion about the weather and changes in the world. Unfortunately, many came to fruition.

I did send portions to an editor and they were interested but rightly, so nothing came to fruition.

I recently reworked it a little and retitled the book SnowGlobe.

Because of the nature of the book and the psyche of my writing, I don’t usually write novel length material during the summer.

However, today turned delightfully cooler and it’s going be that way for the near future. I also have some long plane flights coming up and I see a glimmer of opportunity to dust off this book and give it another opportunity.

 I seriously don’t remember exactly how I ended the book. I imagine it be bombastically unrealistic with a hinting of social commentary.  Pretty much as intended.