I’ve been working on my latest book and I’ve kind have been working on it for a long time now. Specifically, I’m working on this certain chapter; I’m guessing a couple of weeks at this point; at least on this edit. But it’s OK.
I don’t have an editor and even if I did, I have to be happy with the writing as I finish it or why else do it. There is a line of trying to be too perfect, but I’m far from that point. I’m just trying to get it right.
I read about other writers who can crank out books seemingly in their sleep. That’s great for them. I’m not them. I have to work at a different pace. I Edit. Then I edit again. And then edit a few more thousand times. It’s funny to me how little of the original text survives and yet the story remains and appears to have never been edited ever before (that can go two different ways. I speak of the good way, of sounding natural and flowing.)
During this pass through the chapter, a key chapter in my opinion, I have had ideas that need to now be incorporated into earlier chapters and I have had ideas that will reshape the ending of the book. It’s all in a state of flux and I’m creating more and more work to get it all finished. But again, it’s OK. It’s what I signed up to do.
Signed up with me, that is. No one is making me do anything. I’m doing this on my own. For me. To share one day, yes; but it’s mine right now. If I were to stop working on it, few if any would care more than a passing moment. If it isn’t good, no one will stone me. If It never sells, no economy will collapse. It doesn’t matter but to my little world.
And if spending countless hours of my free time, trying to make my little world as good as I can possibly make it, isn’t worth it. Then what is?