I’m done revising. It took a while. But for now, I’m done. They’re off to my agent for feedback and then its back to waiting and wishing and hoping and dreaming. I love my book. Not like a child, but honestly? The analogy isn’t too far off. I’ve put my heart and soul into it. I’ve had days where it felt like drudgery and then moments of transcendental bliss. Its kept me up nights. Its made me worry. Its taught me patience. And now, I see it off again into the world. Again- for what might be the final time, the final round of editors. And I can do nothing but wait and hope I raised it right. The result may be a big fat no. And this book I invested in, might only be viewed by the kind hearted people who agreed to beta-read it in the early days. Still- at least I can say I’ve tried. At least I can’t look back with regret of what could have been, because I will know. And despite my efforts to be zen about it, to let what will be be- I really hope something comes of this. I really hope someone will see my book, and love it, and want to buy it. I hope.
In the meantime, its time to start the next project. I have two I can choose from to give my undivided attention. But starting a new book? It’s intimidating. The blank sheet of paper is simultaneously both the most exciting and frightening thing I will ever see. I stare at the page and then, I think of dishes to wash, laundry to fold, something, anything but this. You could call it writer’s block, but writer’s block is just a fancy word for fear. Pure, ice-cold fear. You could say its not enough time, but let’s be real, you can make time, you can find it if it means enough even if its fifteen minutes before bed, or while you wait for the rice to boil. You might wonder if you’re making excuses to avoid writing, staring blankly at the blank pages, why write at all? but funny enough ts not limited to those in the trenches, it afflicts even the wildly successful authors. You have to drag us to the table kicking and screaming, most days. Writers love to write and writers hate to write. Its love when you are inspired, and otherwise when you are not. Inspiration is awesome, but you can’t spend your life waiting for it. You have to write even when you don’t want to. Even when there a million other things that should be getting done. As this blogger put it:
My house may one day be as clean as I’d like it to be—but it is just not going to happen when my girls are so small and my time is at such a premium. And that’s okay. I’d rather have time with my little ones and a finished book than a waxed and polished kitchen floor.
Amen. When he naps, I write. When the rice boils, I write. When K watches football, I write. 1,500 words a day- rain or shine- until this first draft is complete. And as any writer knows, while the first draft is far from the last one, its the hardest (but most important) one to see to the end.