WRITING A NOVEL: START TO FINISH, ENTRY FOURTEEN
LOVE, PORN, AND BASEBALL
In re to the last entry, I really want to believe I’m good enough to be great. Great at writing. But it's truly hard to convince myself of that when the writing isn’t, well, being written. Last Sunday, when I get the lion’s share of writing done, was Mother’s Day. I shifted it to Monday. Monday arrived and I didn’t do it. I can’t tell you what I even did. So it must’ve been worth it. I’m at a point in TUG where the real work begins. The first 10,000 words were like the first few days of dating someone new, those days where you get that fluttering in your chest and everything between you and her is possible. Bills due don’t matter, the clunking in your car is nothing, the ex-wife really isn’t all that bad after all… But then reality hits. Those little flaws in someone’s character or your own surface and start to play tricks of doubt upon your once departed brain. The heart isn’t enough to carry thing alone. The door is parted allowing the light of hard, cold logic to cast upon the floor and promising of unknowns. Will things work out as once known?
It’s funny and pissy that writing a novel can play with your emotions and confidence. It’s become work. And no one who is being honest enjoys working. Unless you’re a porn star maybe. Even that gets old I’d assume though. I don’t want to be that porn star. Well, actually it may be nice to get that experience. But on screen it ain’t going to happen. Instead, I must make it happen on paper—or screen. Screen first, then paper—hopefully—later. Which brings me to the point of why I’m not writing today.
This evening I do that other portion or writing work that no one enjoys. Gee, why don’t I strain my confidence and create a unique cover letter for each prospective publisher or agent, then send it off, wait for months, then get a form rejection letter. Unfortunately, I need to operate within this business model. After all, I did choose to write these two other novels to be read by someone other than me. But here’s another reason I’ve been avoiding it: Do I really want my confidence to take all these hits as I’m creating something new? It’s the equivalent of a man thinking of baseball to last longer—except it’s completely different? Thinking of baseball will numb the senses, prolong something pleasant. Getting rejection has no positive benefits, but it does numb the creative process. And the fun, the ecstasy is in the creating—when you get off your lazy ass and do it that is.
So to sum up, writing is, at first, like falling in love. Then it becomes a relationship, rife with all its potential pitfalls, and logic guidance—work. Then you wish you were a porn star. Then you decide to think of baseball. Now, doesn’t that make a lot of sense? I will write tomorrow. After work I work again. There will be no cameras or boom mikes or lubricant. Just me and coffee and currently intact confidence and ideas.