Springy
Spring has almost sprung. Not that you'd know it in Texas because the weather has ADD, but whatever. Oh, yeah. Now I have an hour less every day to write and make this deadline. So, thanks for that Daylight Savings Time.
On my author blog, I posted about the middle muddle. Well, sorta. The post was actually about how I got to that place in the book ... you know, the part where the doubts roar to life and I worry that the 200 pages I just sweated over day after day after freaking day SUCK. I love it, but me loving what I write doesn't mean a helluva lot. Readers decide what is awesome. Well, first the publisher, editor, production, and marketing decide what is awesome. Then readers get a shot.
For published authors, writing a book becomes a group project. I'm okay with that. The reality is that you can be an AR-TEEST or you can be a working writer. Sometimes it's difficult to balance the creative with the business of writing, but that's just part of the job. And as awesome as it is to work in my pajamas and take Rock Band breaks whenever I want, it's still a job. I get paid for what I do, and I want to do it well.
Some novels require more blood spilled than others. This one I'm finishing up now has that magic. The flow. I sit down and the story is there waiting. Sure, there are still snags, plot points that get gnarled, characters that get lost, but even that stuff smooths out. I see it like a movie, scene by scene, unfolding in a way that makes me eager get it all down on the page. That's the first part of the process ... the best part. Sure, there will be edits, changes, questions. I'll have to deal with the *&%$#@! copy editor, too. I have to take my ego out of the process and remember I'm not the only one invested in the work.
But for now, it's just me, the book ... and those damned doubts.
On my author blog, I posted about the middle muddle. Well, sorta. The post was actually about how I got to that place in the book ... you know, the part where the doubts roar to life and I worry that the 200 pages I just sweated over day after day after freaking day SUCK. I love it, but me loving what I write doesn't mean a helluva lot. Readers decide what is awesome. Well, first the publisher, editor, production, and marketing decide what is awesome. Then readers get a shot.
For published authors, writing a book becomes a group project. I'm okay with that. The reality is that you can be an AR-TEEST or you can be a working writer. Sometimes it's difficult to balance the creative with the business of writing, but that's just part of the job. And as awesome as it is to work in my pajamas and take Rock Band breaks whenever I want, it's still a job. I get paid for what I do, and I want to do it well.
Some novels require more blood spilled than others. This one I'm finishing up now has that magic. The flow. I sit down and the story is there waiting. Sure, there are still snags, plot points that get gnarled, characters that get lost, but even that stuff smooths out. I see it like a movie, scene by scene, unfolding in a way that makes me eager get it all down on the page. That's the first part of the process ... the best part. Sure, there will be edits, changes, questions. I'll have to deal with the *&%$#@! copy editor, too. I have to take my ego out of the process and remember I'm not the only one invested in the work.
But for now, it's just me, the book ... and those damned doubts.
Comments
Peas? Yikes. I'm very glad I'm a novelist and not a freelance nonfiction writer. I did that for a while. Worked for Fodor's, did features for independent newspapers, wrote magazine articles. I don't miss it.