On Writing: Practice
Phew. What a crazy couple of weeks it has been around the Heirloom Homestead. I’ve finished a class on narrative at Lighthouse and have been working steadily on novel #2. I’m in the middle of chapter 14 — what I’d guess is half-way through completion of the novel.
This feels great. More specifically, if feels like my junior year of high school when I was swimming six hours a day trying to make my way on the A relay, feeling my body growing longer and leaner. My mind was sharp, I was incredibly focused and became stronger through regular practice. (Never mind I never swam on that relay. The journey was better than the desired destination.)
Now, I’m meeting with writing groups, participating in writing exercises, editing other authors, reading a lot of writing books and spending more time crafting exactly what I want to say. I found myself in a writer’s group this week describing my first novel as, “not a true showcase of my abilities.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I felt the weight of that honesty.
I’d doubt other than Ms. Harper Lee, or perhaps Ayn Rand, that any author feels her first work is the best. My second novel has stronger characters, more precise language and an arc I spent six months designing — making sure each twist and turn rang true.
For athletes, I’m at the point in this project that is close to the zone. It still hurts a little if I allow myself to think about it, but it’s mostly pure joy. My happiest time of the week is when I get to sit down, shut out the world, and dive back into my story. My fingers flailing on the keyboard, research pages spread across my desk, photos of Bolivia tacked above my desk, a cup of coffee steaming with refill after precious refill.
Thank you friends, for caring and for your encouragement. Not a week goes by without someone asking how my writing is progressing. Soon, I hope to have the results of the last three years worth of daydreaming in your hands.