It seems like forever that I have started a blog entry, but I am assuaging my guilt with the fact that I was holed up finishing Book 1 and working through the tedious process of editing my book. While it is by far the worst part of the writing process and a very important one, it seems like it will never end. The worse part is that is doesn't end, at least until it's finally in print and out or your hands.
Currently I'm going through the depressing part where others are reviewing what you have written and will either gleefully rip it apart, smile a fake smile and pretend it's great or shrugging indifferently. I'm not sure which response I would prefer at this point. My nerves are shot as I eagerly await feedback.
While I have been playing the waiting game, I managed to go outside and remember what the shining thing is the sky is and that there are other food options aside from caffeine laced snacks and soda. I almost feel like I have a life again. So of course what do I do after a few weeks of normalcy? I start working on the other books which are in various states of outline, partial chapters and notes. I'm a sucker for torture.
I feel like if I don't keep going, then I will lose momentum and completely forget what I wrote in Book 1 and forget what my intended objectives are for the remaining books. I was gleeful when I lay down, intent on taking a nap and instead envisioned huge sections for Book 2 that come in blinding glimpses of the obvious. I, of course, had to write them down, and then edit them, and the expound upon them and ultimately forsake my nap.
I am constantly amazed that as well I pretend to know about the world that I'm writing about, I'm taken by surprise by all the things I never knew about. I almost feel like a new reader who is starting a book and turning the pages as quickly as possible to find out what happens next, except that I'm writing the new pages and trying to get to the next one as fast as I can type. It's an exciting experience, if not a little frustration since I want to know how it ends too.
There are days when I think, even if no one else ever reads my books, at least I will have had the amazing opportunity of writing them and getting this interesting world down into print. Other days I hope like heck that someone will read it and tell others and before you know it, tons of people love it. Of course every writer feels that way. I'm just another in a sea of millions, but who cares? I'm doing what I want to do, hopefully.
While it was fun to play in the sunlight for a little while and actually read books that I hadn't written, it's more enticing and interesting to sneak back into the darkness of my room, lit only by my monitor and explore the places inside my head that make me type as fast as I possibly can.
I know more blog posts will follow now that I'm securely back in the curtain drawn room where the sunlight is just a myth and a concept. All the really intriguing things live in the dark.
Currently I'm going through the depressing part where others are reviewing what you have written and will either gleefully rip it apart, smile a fake smile and pretend it's great or shrugging indifferently. I'm not sure which response I would prefer at this point. My nerves are shot as I eagerly await feedback.
While I have been playing the waiting game, I managed to go outside and remember what the shining thing is the sky is and that there are other food options aside from caffeine laced snacks and soda. I almost feel like I have a life again. So of course what do I do after a few weeks of normalcy? I start working on the other books which are in various states of outline, partial chapters and notes. I'm a sucker for torture.
I feel like if I don't keep going, then I will lose momentum and completely forget what I wrote in Book 1 and forget what my intended objectives are for the remaining books. I was gleeful when I lay down, intent on taking a nap and instead envisioned huge sections for Book 2 that come in blinding glimpses of the obvious. I, of course, had to write them down, and then edit them, and the expound upon them and ultimately forsake my nap.
I am constantly amazed that as well I pretend to know about the world that I'm writing about, I'm taken by surprise by all the things I never knew about. I almost feel like a new reader who is starting a book and turning the pages as quickly as possible to find out what happens next, except that I'm writing the new pages and trying to get to the next one as fast as I can type. It's an exciting experience, if not a little frustration since I want to know how it ends too.
There are days when I think, even if no one else ever reads my books, at least I will have had the amazing opportunity of writing them and getting this interesting world down into print. Other days I hope like heck that someone will read it and tell others and before you know it, tons of people love it. Of course every writer feels that way. I'm just another in a sea of millions, but who cares? I'm doing what I want to do, hopefully.
While it was fun to play in the sunlight for a little while and actually read books that I hadn't written, it's more enticing and interesting to sneak back into the darkness of my room, lit only by my monitor and explore the places inside my head that make me type as fast as I possibly can.
I know more blog posts will follow now that I'm securely back in the curtain drawn room where the sunlight is just a myth and a concept. All the really intriguing things live in the dark.
