The interesting thing about looking at your notes on the first draft of your novel after a span of a few months? The fact that some of them seem to make no sense whatsoever.
8. Scritti Politti were a collective.
I genuinely have no idea how this applies to this novel. (The next one is another story, perhaps.)
And sometimes my notes to myself play out like some weird stream-of-consciousness rant translated to paper.
20. Oh, wow, you totally fudged… No wait, you didn’t — Buttermilk was open by then.
It’s strangely entertaining.