I have my coffee, and know my mission. I’m in position, and yet, I hesitate.
I know this neighborhood. Been here before.
It’s a big chapter I’m about to begin, a tipping point, the climax to this novel, and the setup to pivot to the next one. I’ve been thinking about this chapter and its scenes for weeks without writing anything, building all the bridges to it, and expanding and clarifying my vision of it. I hesitate to start it today because, it’s a big chapter, an important chapter. Looking into my magic writing mirror, I see a lot of hard work in it.
We have found the crux. I think of writing as fun and entertaining, a diversion from the mundane. The most mundane slice of life to me is the wedge we call work. Work is how I’ve come to see this chapter, so I’m avoiding it.
I’m also avoiding it because I expect so much of it for the rest of the novel. As written before this, I’ve burdened this chapter with a lot of weight. My ambitions, self-confidence, and determination all sag under that weight. That pesky question, can I do it, festers in my mind.
I think many writers go through this. I think this is where some crumble. This is like the big show because, hey, the novel’s end is in sight. Yowza. The end naturally carries greater significance and tension. This is the final exam, the championship game, the big moment. Everything else has led to this point. All these threads must be tied together. I began this manuscript in July of twenty sixteen. A lot of work, and energy went into creating this manuscript.
No, not true. I started this trilogy in July of twenty sixteen, and wrote the first novel, which is the second book in the series. That took from July of last year to September of twenty seventeen. I didn’t start the novel I’m finishing now until October of twenty-seventeen. That was less than three months ago, as I started it on October tenth. So, its three hundred-ninety pages and one hundred thousand words were quickly written.
As is often the case, I started writing in the middle of the tale I’m telling. I seized upon a concept, and visualized settings, characters, and action, and began. Then I approached the logic and the arcs. The answer to why appears a lot as I’m writing in that phase. In trying to answer the question, I figure out that I’ve started in the middle.
That doesn’t bother me. As long as I find a starting point and can create a beginning and an end to the novel or series, where I begin writing is immaterial. I suspect, too, that I’ll end up with several chapters from this one visualize. That’s the nature of my writing process.
And it’s funny. I’ve been through this before. Yeah, I know this neighborhood. I’ve written and finished nine, ten novels? Yet, I still experience this process. It’s fresh every time.
Okay, I’ve unburdened myself. Writing about my fears and doubts, and where I’m at, have again released them, carrying me to the point that I’m ready to write.
Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.