Only fifteen thousand words to go. Maybe I could add some ands, buts, pluses, likewises or toos. The word count has been my nemesis in this process. I realize words are a necessary component to flesh out my characters, so I continue to go back and edit a section to bring that person to life. I wonder if Mary Shelley had this problem writing “Frankenstein?” Actually, she was a much freer spirit than I. I think drugs and alcohol may have played a part in that one. Lewis Carroll may have taken the same path, but I digress.
I have a tendency to go off track. My mind works that way. The beauty of writing, however, is that you can go back and change things. It’s like taking as long as a week before you speak, because you want to say just the right words. I can’t let the words simply fall on the paper. They must be pondered before they’re set in stone.
This adventure has been all consuming. After I complete my blog posts each day, I get right on it. I’m neglecting other things, because I’ve set an imaginary deadline for myself. I want to get this done before I’m dead! Although the story might be a lot better if I was writing it in heaven.
So the cobwebs are mounting in every corner of my house. Laundry piles grow high. Dirty dishes often stay in the sink overnight. My floors need scrubbing, the windows need some serious attention and for some reason, this doesn’t bother me. I’ve resorted to working in my pajamas with no make up and hair flying in several directions.
I have second thoughts about my story lines. Do I have too many complex subplots? I wonder if there is too much tragedy and sadness to make it believable. Then I turn on the news and realize that this is the way life is today. Will I hold my reader’s attention? I’m being directed at times by the will and voices of my characters. The plots I had originally planned are being re-written by them. It’s a little weird, but I appreciate their input.
I never dreamed this journey would be so intense, difficult at times, unrewarding and lonely. Once the words are written and the storyline is resolved, I will have to edit. That process will undoubtedly take longer than the writing part. I’ve already experienced some of that as I go, but I’m certain I’ve got a long way to go. I don’t know how long I have left on this planet, so it’s become like something I want to scratch off my bucket list.
So I press on for the prize. Oh, that’s another part of my life, having nothing to do with writing, because this prize won’t necessarily be achieved. When you consider all the hours, sweat, tears, angst, exhaustion and fear you go through, it’s hard to imagine if anyone else will think your work is as great as you think it is.
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