I’m back at the beginning. I have loosed my creativity and thrown grammar and form to the wind. And I love it!
My first novel is complete (until an interested editor tells me otherwise, that is) and I’ve constructed the framework of my second novel in a forty-eight page outline. I’ve researched, drawn up character and setting sketches, and even mapped out on graph paper a blueprint of the house in which the novel takes place.
Now I’m into the fun part: writing!
It’s a time of euphoria; it’s a time of dread. I believe so much in this novel’s potential and am utterly terrified of falling short. There’s 100,000 words between me and the book’s completion. That’s daunting in and of itself. A lot can go wrong. But there’s magic to be discovered too. And poetry. Truth.
Gerald Brenan said:
It is by sitting down to write every morning that one becomes a writer. Those who do not do this remain amateurs.
So go forth and write I will, banishing thoughts of failure, permitting myself all the rough edges and verbose prose innate in a first draft. After all, there’s nothing a red pen and some mental elbow grease can’t fix when it comes time for revision.