Don’t ever let them tell you writing is easy.
Ok, that’s a bit of a lie. Sometimes, writing is easy. The words just flow and you’re 30 pages in before you realize it’s been 5 hours and the people at Starbucks are starting to think you’re crazy. Other times, it feels like an uphill battle just to write two sentences. Both experiences are ok. The trick is to take those harder days and work through them. I know a couple of authors who knocked out a whole novel in a month.
I am not one of them.
It’s no secret I’ve been swamped by stress: my parents are getting divorced (and I still live at home at the moment), I’ve been struggling to go full-time at work, and tis the season to get every virus and head cold known to modern medicine. I work between 30-40 hours a week, deal with life at home, and still have to focus on finishing this novel while battling the constant distractions and overall lack of privacy.
That’s why I usually take myself off to Starbucks–in the next town over.
While I change my physical distractions, the emotional ones still get me, even removed from my usual environment. This is what, for me, makes writing so hard at times. It’s no surprise that I failed to meet my initial deadline, which was Thursday. My new deadline is March 1. Since I was iced in Friday, I spent the day reshaping and organizing The Killing Type, and finally cracked the 50k mark.
Sadly, this means a new set of roadblocks. I’ve spent the last two years working on this book (which only recently received a real title), and I’m experiencing the strangest feeling of apprehension and nostalgia. I’ve spent two years in this world, building this story, and really, it’s all kind of downhill from this point.
All the chapters are outlined and there are only 2-3 chapters I need to start. The rest are just polishing and connecting to the events. It’s so close to being over and though I’m excited to finally finish the draft, I’m nervous about what being done with the draft means.
It means I freaking wrote a book. Not a short story, not a vignette, a book. I’ve done it before, technically, with Deadbeat, but this feels different. I don’t really know how to describe it. I know the draft being done doesn’t mean it’s over, not by a longshot. But things will be different. I’ll be editing. I’ll be starting my next book, or finishing Living Dead from Halloween.
Then it’s the scary part: the querying, the pitching, the putting myself out there and hoping I don’t sound like an idiot and can remember what sentences sound like and how to form them.
But first I have to sit down and crank out another 30k or so and finish off this 50 chapter beast.