Have I mentioned how much fun I’m having?
Writing a book is hard. Reading one is easy, which is why so many people think that writing one must be a cinch, too. Writing is challenging (good books need to be coherent, well-thought-out, and keep the reader’s attention), butt-numbing (all of that sitting), frustrating (Oh, crap, what color were his eyes again? Great, none of that five pages I just wrote is going to work in the final draft. Gah! How am I going to fit in this Really Important piece of information?), time consuming (you can put a lot of words on the page fairly quickly, but do they translate into a good book?), and sometimes all-consuming. Until this morning, I hadn’t left the house for two days. I’m pretty sure I brushed my hair before going to the grocery store, but I’m a little sketchy on the details…
But that all-consuming part? It’s also one of the good aspects. When I read a good book (Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series, Larry McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove, the entire Harry Potter series, to name a very few), I am IN that world. It takes over and suddenly I am a time-traveler, a cowboy, or a boy wizard. How cool is that? And when I write, I get to see all of these things unfold. I get to create worlds, people, and situations. Sometimes, I’ll be struggling so much, I think it’s never going to happen, this book is terrible, no one is ever going to want to read it, but that’s okay, because I’ll never actually finish the dumb thing anyway. Then one small thing will click into place–an idea, a piece of dialogue, a plot point–that tiny puzzle piece I needed for the rest of it to make sense.
That happened today. I had one plot point toward that end that I needed to make everything else before and after it make sense, but the reasoning I had for it didn’t work. I could tell I was trying too hard to make this one thing happen without a good reason. Then, after much struggle, the right reason popped out in the middle of a few terribly worded sentences. I wrote for about five hours straight after that, because everything now made sense.
I actually don’t need to be a boy wizard sometimes, because writing itself is magic.