The novel is the most delicious and intriguing jaunt and maze. I am nearly done keying in the first draft and seeing connections for the second. Not wanting to abandon this piece of work has been the most exhilirating experience of my life. It is my work. I'm also breaking down how to write a column or essay, my style. Not so much formulaic as Sheela-rich. If I am to continue as a writer who also has a roof over my head and two fabulous daughters I'd like to help rather than hurt, I've got to crack through and successfully write from my true self.
It is a journey.
What I have found in this journey is it involves every fiber of me, it's not a 9 to 5 job. It is what consumes me and what has married me and I gratefully accept. It also causes me to suspend judgment and to let life and its characters perform without my critical eye.
That's the hardest to do.
But I accept and continue.
You know what I love most about my novel? 1) It isn't finished and like a child waiting to open presents, I pant at the notion, 2) It doesn't have a title which prolongs the sweet mystery even more, 3) Its characters are planted in the soil of truth and continue to show themselves to me, 4) It requires my heart, and, 5) I can be turned on to it 24-7, even while buying milk, as I'm preparing to do, or feeding the cat as I've just done.
When I start panicking about my situation, I hear Chris Gardner telling his son, "you gotta protect your dream."
So on I go, protecting mine, even when the person I most have to shelter it from is me.
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