I have a lot of weaknesses (I know, shocking). I procrastinate a lot, I’m a horrible housekeeper and an awful driver. For most of my life, things have come easily. Learning came naturally so school wasn’t a trial. I learned new skills quickly so I could adapt to new jobs. I don’t even have to style my hair; it air dries nicely (which is good because I’m pathetic with styling tools). I like tasks I can accomplish in one or two days like Sudoku puzzles, gardening, cooking, painting a room, or even writing this blog. As a result, I tend to avoid tasks in which progress is a struggle. Tasks like eating right (it’s so much easier to have the cheeseburger than make a salad), cleaning (it’s never done), and musical instruments. To get to the point, writing a novel goes against personality. It takes time (like months and years) to write a novel, even a bad one. And you must practice often to craft sentences that entertain and reveal. In other words, writing well is hard work, and I kind of want to quit.
Recently, I’ve doubted whether or not I can finish my book. Wait, let me rephrase that. I’ve doubted I can write a good book. I know I can complete an insipid, limp novel with no heart, weak plot points, and pathetic jokes.
I’ve mentioned before my husband is my first reader, and he showers my efforts with plenty of praise. I admit I love hearing him tell me he likes a character, or enjoys how I explained something. During one of our discussions about what happens, I told him an upcoming plot point he didn’t expect, which led to a discussion about a male character’s feelings and whether an event could actually happen. We have completely different feelings about it. I’m tempted to dismiss his comments as “just a male” point of view. After all, I’m writing a light romance and he doesn’t really represent the target audience. He doesn’t read novels, let alone this type of novel. Fixing his concerns will require reworking chapters I thought were almost done. I still have research I want to finish, let alone half the book to write. Progress is slow given my limited time, and ‘things’ have a habit of interrupting my writing time; so the changes won’t be completed for weeks. This assumes I can even successfully address his concerns.
But I want this story to be good (great would be even better) and aren’t the best stories ones that ring true for both genders? Shouldn’t I take his opinions into consideration even if he isn’t the target audience? But what if my writing isn’t good enough, my characters interesting enough, my plot engaging enough?
So fear and self-doubt loom over my computer, darkening my optimism.
But, dear reader, that is why I have you. I’ve made my intentions public. Enough people know I’m writing this novel and inquire on my progress. If I quit, I couldn’t do so quietly. I’d have to tell people I failed. And that is intolerable. I’m too proud to admit I failed. Therefore, my only option is to continue. And that, dear reader, is one of the many reason I started this blog. While I don’t have a boss or any one person I am accountable to, I have you. The end product may end up sucking, but I will finish it because I told you I would finish it. And then I will edit, and then we’ll see what happens next, together.
And maybe when the first novel is done, I’ll start to eat more salads.
May 30 Word Count* = 27,344
*Due to Microsoft word being evil, progress reports will now appear as word counts rather than page counts. This number is 2000 more words than the previous draft.
