|Posted on Tuesday, September 21, 2004 - 07:27 am: |
Earlier this month I wrote the words ďThe EndĒ.
Not in itself the most lyrical prose Iíve ever written, but I donít care, because what it means is that I have finished my first novel.
Well, the first draft. And Iím already thinking no, got to change this, cut back on that, move this there, bring this more to the forefront, but I donít care about that either. That can all wait for the second draft and revision. Which starts on Monday.
I donít care because the important thing to me Ė someone who would be the laziest, most procrastinating person in the world except that would involve too much effort, and maybe Iíll start it tomorrow Ė is that Iíve resisted the siren calls of the next novel idea, the seductive whispering of short stories, the Jonah thatís sat on my shoulder all the way through moaning about how the novel is rubbish, the characters are flat, the plot is improbable, go on, go on, give up, give up now. And Iíve got through all that to write ďThe EndĒ this afternoon.
Maybe Iíll send it out and itíll never sell. I donít care about that either, because if it doesnít, the next one will, or the one after that, and the most important thing for me now is proving to myself that I can do it, that I can spend months writing something that even in first draft is a recognisable, real, proper novel, with a plot and characters and a theme and a narrative arc and all the rest, and now I know that I can do it, I know that I can do it again.
So thatís why I am happy that this month I wrote the words ďThe EndĒ.
|Posted on Tuesday, September 21, 2004 - 07:57 am: |
I'm so glad to hear this! Congratulations!
|Posted on Tuesday, September 21, 2004 - 08:04 am: |
Ta. It's a nice feeling. Or at least, it was. Now I'm looking at the revision and thinking, gulp.
It's set in a very thinly veiled Robin Hood's Bay, by the way.