my 13th novel is stewing. i managed to finish two drafts before all hell broke - i mean, before my gramma moved up here. my hope was to finish a third draft and turn it into my agent by august 15. but on august 15, i was Otherwise Engaged.
in the meantime, im carrying the manuscript around in a green silk bag, with a few sheaves of rough notes of ideas i dont want to forget for good measure. my husband wants to know when i'll get back to it...the truthful answer, much as i want it to be august 27, is... i really dont know.
this would've bothered me before. i used to think that writers Write, that if you aren't Writing, then you aren't a Writer. then i had to write the last book in my most recent trilogy and i learned the hard way that all the Writing in the world doesn't do you much good if you haven't let the story cook. i have found that for me, the process of writing can involve as much time spent Not Writing, which can sometimes be problematic for those around me. after all, how can i be working on Anything, if i seem not to be working at all?
1 comment:
"after all, how can i be working on Anything, if i seem not to be working at all?"
~*~*~*~*~
That, my friend, seems to be the . . . mmm--place where the greatest value to *any* work is created, nurtured, and ultimately made manifest.
After all, why have the cauldron if you're not willing to let things stew and bubble?
But--hey--I'm preaching to the chior, methinks.
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