John Steinbeck once said, When I face the desolate impossibility of writing 500 pages, a sick sense of failure falls on me and I know I can never do it. This happens every time. Then gradually I write one page and then another.
Not that I'm comparing myself to John Steinbeck--just the emotion. Because it is overwhelming to take an idea and turn it into a book, populated by interesting characters, startling challenges, and emotive scenes.
One page does follow another--no matter how impossible my mind makes it seem.
The last line edits finished, Shadow is on her way to becoming a book. My eyes ache from studying each line, looking for every error, searching for redundancies, and over used words. My brain is fried, my thumbs cramped. But this is what it's all about.
Writing your first draft is the fun part. Ideas flow fast and furious. However, you end up with too many threads that go nowhere. The second draft, you cut out the ambiguities, try and make your story cleaner--delete the clutter--demolish the trash. Your third draft you connect the dots, sharpen the characters, make the scenery pop. On your fourth draft, you tie everything into a neat little bow.
Then, the book is off to the editor where the entire process starts over again.
By the time the editing is done and your novel is ready for print--you have aching eyes and throbbing headaches. You want to celebrate, but you're too pooped to do anything.
I had the grandkids over last night. I fixed them frozen pizza, and as they sat around the kitchen table, I said, "Dudes! Did you know I just finished the last edits for my new novel today?"
"Uh, okay," replies my 9 year-old grandson. "Can I have another slice of pizza?"
"Juice! Juice!" yells the four year-old.
"Hey you guys. Don't you want to celebrate?"
"Can we play video games?" the nine year-old asks hopefully.
Somehow, this is not the response I was hoping for. Grandchildren have a way of keeping you humble. But then again, I guess it's more of a personal victory. I mean, it's hard standing up to the challenges writing a novel brings.
The kid I work with just came in asking me why I hadn't eaten all the peanuts this morning.
I told him, "I'm done."
"Done what?"
"Done editing."
"That's why you eat peanuts?"
"Of course it is. After all, I quit smoking." I'm hearing his footfalls right now as he walks down the hall, puzzled that my peanut addiction has ended.
I had no idea how many lives I'd affected with my editing obsession.
I'm thinking I'll take myself out to lunch. No, better yet--frozen yogurt--fat free chocolate. Yum!
If you've nothing to do, check out the book cover above. Some have complained it's too dark to see well. Perhaps it's the jpeg. There's a house in the background and a pool in front. The only thing I can see is the clock. What say you?
Not that I'm comparing myself to John Steinbeck--just the emotion. Because it is overwhelming to take an idea and turn it into a book, populated by interesting characters, startling challenges, and emotive scenes.
One page does follow another--no matter how impossible my mind makes it seem.
The last line edits finished, Shadow is on her way to becoming a book. My eyes ache from studying each line, looking for every error, searching for redundancies, and over used words. My brain is fried, my thumbs cramped. But this is what it's all about.
Writing your first draft is the fun part. Ideas flow fast and furious. However, you end up with too many threads that go nowhere. The second draft, you cut out the ambiguities, try and make your story cleaner--delete the clutter--demolish the trash. Your third draft you connect the dots, sharpen the characters, make the scenery pop. On your fourth draft, you tie everything into a neat little bow.
Then, the book is off to the editor where the entire process starts over again.
By the time the editing is done and your novel is ready for print--you have aching eyes and throbbing headaches. You want to celebrate, but you're too pooped to do anything.
I had the grandkids over last night. I fixed them frozen pizza, and as they sat around the kitchen table, I said, "Dudes! Did you know I just finished the last edits for my new novel today?"
"Uh, okay," replies my 9 year-old grandson. "Can I have another slice of pizza?"
"Juice! Juice!" yells the four year-old.
"Hey you guys. Don't you want to celebrate?"
"Can we play video games?" the nine year-old asks hopefully.
Somehow, this is not the response I was hoping for. Grandchildren have a way of keeping you humble. But then again, I guess it's more of a personal victory. I mean, it's hard standing up to the challenges writing a novel brings.
The kid I work with just came in asking me why I hadn't eaten all the peanuts this morning.
I told him, "I'm done."
"Done what?"
"Done editing."
"That's why you eat peanuts?"
"Of course it is. After all, I quit smoking." I'm hearing his footfalls right now as he walks down the hall, puzzled that my peanut addiction has ended.
I had no idea how many lives I'd affected with my editing obsession.
I'm thinking I'll take myself out to lunch. No, better yet--frozen yogurt--fat free chocolate. Yum!
If you've nothing to do, check out the book cover above. Some have complained it's too dark to see well. Perhaps it's the jpeg. There's a house in the background and a pool in front. The only thing I can see is the clock. What say you?
RSS Feed
