The Writing Moment
I wrote “The End.” Then I sat there, slightly stupefied, wondering what to do next.
Is it really the novel’s end? Only the three Rs—re-reading, rewriting, revising—will tell me.
It feels good as a novel at this point. I think I found the story and followed it where it needed to go, shaping plot and character along the way. Like so many writers, I’m left with a quiet sense of wonder: nearly five hundred pages spent exploring another life, another existence. There’s sadness, too. I enjoyed my characters. Writing “The End” makes me miss them already.
A million other ideas are queued up, hungry. But first, I’ll take a day and let the novel—and myself—breathe. Then I’ll open it again, turn to page one, and begin the three Rs.
Wenzdaz Wandering Thoughts
I was deep into a writing day at the coffee shop when I happened to look up. Across the room was a young girl—maybe six. In her hand was a huge chocolate croissant. I swear the pastry was as large as her head. She kept attacking it with her tiny mouth, trying again and again to make inroads into the dough.
As I smiled to myself and glanced around, I noticed others doing the same. We all seemed to feel it: the quiet pleasure of witnessing a sweet moment—a sweetie going after a sweet.
The Writing Moment
I was in the coffee shop, writing the current novel in progress. In fact, I was writing the newest ending to it. This one was not an ending which I’d envisioned, although it was a path that veered from that planned ending.
As I typed, one of my coffee-shop writing friends came by. “I can see you’re deep into it,” she said. “You have the writer face going.”
She and I laughed and she went on. In truth, I was ready for a break because writing butt was settling in. One cheek felt numb and the other was sore.
But you probably know how it is. There was more to write. Hungry, thirsty, pressed for time, I kept going, writing like crazy till I finally took a breath, sat back, and said, “Done.”
We’ll see if I’m done, of course. If the novel is done. Finished.
We’ll see.
Michael Seidel, writer 