I’m not saying anything here that writers or readers don’t already know.
I will be so, so glad when I finish the novel I’m working on, which should happen in about two more days. I’m not going to rush it, because rushing your books makes them sucky. But, at the same time, I’m aching to finish it, and here is why…
I haven’t let myself work on any other creative project while I’ve been finishing this book. So, that’s been, like, a million months now. And I really want to work on something new. A lot of somethings new, in fact. I want to cleanse my writing palate with something visual, like a picture or some jewelry or a baby-shower craft, or my Halloween costume, if it turns out that someone will babysit my kids on the night of the big grown-up Halloween party.
I want to read other people’s books. I want to sing karaoke with my friends. I want to draw. I want to clean out our closets and pack up our stuff because we’re moving to a new apartment on November 27. When I get to the new apartment, I desperately want to decorate our patio the way I was never able to decorate the one we have now, because the one we have now is basically in the parking lot, and the one we move to will be on the second floor. I want to fill it with potted plants and windchimes and birdfeeders and sparkling, spinning things. I want to plant plants inside the plant pots, with colorfully packeted seeds. Even though it’ll be winter when we get there. I can’t wait.
I want to decorate our Christmas tree. First we have to buy a Christmas tree. I want to make my children things for Christmas – stockings and cookies and little booklets filled with pictures and inside jokes that only we know.
And then, after all that, I want to start on my next book.
The other thing – the other reason I’m ready to finish this book – is that writing is a lonely thing. Everyone says that, because it’s true. (When everyone says a thing, you should probably listen, because not everyone can be a liar at the same time.)
Even if someone knew the whole story and all the characters of my book, and that person was sympathetic to my subplotting issues and attempts to iron out the mechanics, that person wouldn’t be able to sit there and hold my hand while I physically wrote down the words.
Even if someone sat next to me, holding my hand and listening to me read all the words as I typed them, every step of the way, and even if that person never eventually got tired of it and said, “Please, baby, let’s go eat some pho now,” that person wouldn’t be able to watch me invent the ideas in my mind.
Even if someone stayed up late on the phone, listening to me invent the ideas in my mind, listening to me whine that it’s so hard and I’m so tired and what if my writing sucks and I fail… Then it would still be lonely. I know it.
Because, no matter how aware your friends may be of the fact that you are living, eating, breathing, sleeping your book (because that’s all you talk about, sometimes only in mumbles, when they politely ask how you’ve been,) they aren’t you. No one is you. If they were you, they’d be the ones writing your book. But they aren’t, so you have to write it, and you have to write it all by yourself. And the sooner you shut the hell up about how difficult and lonely it is, the sooner you’ll get it done.
I’m not going to rush, but I expect to be done in two days. And then, I’ll send it to my agent, if she hasn’t already forgotten about/given up on me. And then, God willing, I won’t have to do any more rewrites. And then, if I’m lucky, I’ll move on with my life, and live to write again.
Because, really, I’d be miserable if I didn’t write again. You think I sound miserable now, but that’s because you have no idea what a whiny, miserable bitch I really can be.
Ask my boyfriend. He knows. And yet, he doesn’t break up with me (often), and that’s why he’s a good someone to have around while I work on my book. And I may not say it enough, but I do appreciate him and everyone else who gives me love and support.
And I do appreciate the other people on the same sort of journey as me, even if I don’t ever write to them and say so, because it makes me feel less alone. And I do appreciate the people who’ve been there and done that long ago, even if I leave snarky comments on their blogs sometimes, because they show me that it will get easier and it is worth it, even if it never makes you rich.
Thanks, everybody. I’ll see y’all for beers and karaoke soon.
