I’m a nice person. This is not normally a bad thing – except when being nice starts distracting me from what I need to accomplish. My first instinct is to help people, to be nice, to chip in… and if the amount of time it will take doesn’t match up to the money it will […]
I’m starting to see that writing a novel is a lot like painting a room. Taking a bunch of time to lay down guidelines doesn’t feel very creative. In fact, if you’re impatient (like me), it can seem like a pointless time-suck. But, after having done a few novels from instinct – the same instinct that got my paint everywhere – I’m starting to see that doing it without guidelines turns into a nightmare.
The take away (other than the importance of proofreading) is that I got the book done. Really done. And I’m proud of myself with all sincerity for finishing the project I’ve been working on for five years or more. After a lot of sweat and tears, Clean has finally lived up to its potential.
Today’s triumph is that I’m out of bed, dressed, and sitting at the keyboard. I promised myself that I would be the Post Office of writers – you know, rain, snow, sleet, whatever. And last night’s dream involving evil octopi, a family member, and other assorted Crazy won’t stop me.
There are 1,939 reasons not to write, but on the other hand only a few very big reasons to sit down and do it. Don’t let the numbers fool you – the big ones outweigh the small ones by a long shot.
Ever seen that commercial with the cheering section that follows a guy around his entire day and cheers for him? Life isn’t like that.