right to remain nameless

I’ve started work on a novel. My gut tells me that it is going to end up being rather lengthy, and I doubt anyone will ever want to read it, due to the fact that, like so much of my writing, I have not one, but many, points in mind and they tend to get so hopelessly lost in each other that making sense of them is a lost cause.

I can say now that it will likely be a kind of guidebook to the massive labyrinth of confused thought that is my self. There will be some infusion of present events with old memories, lots of melancholy, rubbish, and nonsense.