More Changes to Come
It's hard to believe my time in Ohio is almost gone. How has three months flown by so quickly? I'm (sometimes frantically) working on my story, trying to prod it into a roughly finished draft. I know, I know, I said before I was done, and here I am, saying again that it is almost finished (again).
The problem with writing is it is never finished! I re-work on section and the ripples reach throughout the story, and suddenly the whole last half of the book has to be tweaked and reworked. New scenes are added, old ones suddenly don't work and have to be deleted. Some characters have been removed, others gain more importance in the story.
The marble is being chipped away. It is still rough, but something is emerging from the block, at this point, I cannot tell if it will be worth the work or not. I am too close to this story, I cannot tell anymore whether it is any good, whether the story will hold up to criticism, whether I have written compelling characters. I just don't know. Even if this book is never published, if no one else ever reads it, it was worth it. I have learned so much through this process. I know that I can write a book. I might never be satisfied with it, I can understand now why some authors take years to complete a novel, but at least I did it.
But now that the work is sort-of-kind-of-over, I have to figure out what is next--not just for my writing, but my 'career'. I don't really like the word career, it brings to mind a cold, money-hungry person striving for earthly treasure, pushing aside family and friends...I think I've watched too many movies...I suppose it's because I feel like a career means adulthood, and sometimes I still like to pretend I'm not an adult, with adult problems, and an 'adult' job, and imagine I'm still in high school, just starting to create this world I've written about for over ten years.
The problem with writing is it is never finished! I re-work on section and the ripples reach throughout the story, and suddenly the whole last half of the book has to be tweaked and reworked. New scenes are added, old ones suddenly don't work and have to be deleted. Some characters have been removed, others gain more importance in the story.
The marble is being chipped away. It is still rough, but something is emerging from the block, at this point, I cannot tell if it will be worth the work or not. I am too close to this story, I cannot tell anymore whether it is any good, whether the story will hold up to criticism, whether I have written compelling characters. I just don't know. Even if this book is never published, if no one else ever reads it, it was worth it. I have learned so much through this process. I know that I can write a book. I might never be satisfied with it, I can understand now why some authors take years to complete a novel, but at least I did it.
But now that the work is sort-of-kind-of-over, I have to figure out what is next--not just for my writing, but my 'career'. I don't really like the word career, it brings to mind a cold, money-hungry person striving for earthly treasure, pushing aside family and friends...I think I've watched too many movies...I suppose it's because I feel like a career means adulthood, and sometimes I still like to pretend I'm not an adult, with adult problems, and an 'adult' job, and imagine I'm still in high school, just starting to create this world I've written about for over ten years.
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