There aren’t words to express how much I love writing. It’s fulfilling in a way that nothing else can compare to. The only thing more fulfilling, even though it’s different, is the time I get to share with the boys. I’ve heard others talk about their creative process in a similar light as I do. Flannery O’Connor comes to mind. She said that as she wrote, she smiled like the Cheshire Cat. I’ve also heard others who felt tortured by it. Haruki Murakami likened writing a novel to releasing a toxin into the body and only those who have the strength to suppress the toxin can complete a book. On one level, I understand what he means. The process from inception to completion is exhausting, but I wouldn’t compare my creative energy to anything so negative.
Instead, for me, it’s like swimming in a naturally warm spring, where the water is always 78 degrees, and each night as I sink into the spring, my body and mind relax. I’m no longer here in this place; I’m somewhere else, barely a conscious being, and a primitive part of the universe is moving through me unchallenged. Like most transcendental experiences, it’s hard to put into accurate words.
Chapter 11 is coming along nicely, now that I figured out the stumbling block. The next couple of scenes will be pretty fun to write, and I hope to have this chapter completed over the weekend. Then, I’ll just have three more chapters to finish, so the end of June looks really good for completion of the rough draft. When it’s done, I’ll dive into the editing full throttle, but I will not cut corners. This book will not be rushed to market, not for any reason. I want this one to be good, much better than the first two, and the only way to achieve that end is to focus on the rewriting with painstaking attention to detail.
Check back for more updates over the weekend.
Big Owl's Tree 