When I first started writing back in February of 2010, I thought it would be easy. I had never made a serious attempt to write but I figured that because I’m smart and capable, I could tackle a trilogy and have my first book completed in 3 months. And I really thought I could do it. Like many people, I started this process with very romantic notions about what it is to be a writer. I thought that because I had an idea and some notes that the rest would just flow. Words would appear on the screen like magic, the story would weave itself together, and that I would be on the shelves in no time.
That’s not how things played out. Not even close. Instead, everything I had heard (and dismissed) about the creative process being maddening, turned out to be true.
In the past 2 years, I’ve rewritten everything countless times. I’ve dreaded making every small change that sent ripples into other chapters. I’ve gotten hung up on finding the right word for hours. Editing is the bane of my existence. I haven’t seen the actual surface of my desk in months and on some days, I’ve had enough coffee to be twitchier than a squirrel.
While it’s been difficult, I can honestly say that writing has been the most worthwhile thing I’ve ever done. I’m excited to start working on new material. The possibility of new ideas and new worlds has an intoxicating allure to it. And even though I know writing another book will be just as mind numbing, I can take comfort in knowing I have good, patient, (unsuspecting) friends who I can unleash my writing demons on. *Cue evil genius laugh*…wait, I mean… 🙂