Somehow, the week before last, I finished the first draft of my new novel.
I say “somehow” because I’m really not sure how it happened. I’ve been billing 50-60 hours per week at work. My fiancé and I closed escrow on a new house and then began packing and moving. Oh, and we’re renovating the kitchen in the new house, which means we are living in dust and are consumed by questions like, “Do we want an area for bar stools at the island?” and “Should we go with a small pantry or big cabinets?” We each own property, so we are in the process of finding renters for those properties and getting ready for them to move in. It’s been chaotic, to say the least. Throw in two new kittens (we’re nuts, I know), a quick trip to Chicago for a wedding, wedding planning (it’s gettin’ serious), some family health matters, and a couple minor car accidents (my fiancé and I got side-swiped and rear-ended, respectively, within a week of each other) and you have my current reality.
Just today, I backed out of hiking Mt. Whitney in August. Because, seriously, I have been climbing several metaphorical mountains lately.
And, yet, I finished writing a book. What the hell? The past six months have really shown me that it’s best for my psyche to write when I’m busy. That way, I don’t have time for all the self-doubt and angst. I just write because I know the opportunities are few and far between.
Basically, I took this advice:
So, now what?
Well, the editing phase has begun. I’m trying to edit about 50 pages per week. This is my very least favorite phase of any writing project. I’m hoping to have a reader-ready draft within a month or so. My first reader is always my mom. She gives it to me straight and I can take it…because she’s my mom. Are you reading this mom? Be nice.
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Do you prefer writing in times of calm or times of storm? Or, actually, let me rephrase (because all of us would probably say we’d prefer to write in times of calm): Do you find that being busy is conducive to writing?