Today was the kind of day that I live for. The novel's become really, really hard. I'm having to work like crazy writing, deleting, cutting, pasting, chewing on pens, pacing the floor. It's been work. I am so grateful to have the main stress in my life be writing. Not only is the book having problems, I need to fix them. I've got to get this off to the publisher.
For so many years, writing was what I did in spare moments. Half an hour a day and half a Saturday in law school, whenever I had some spare time in undergrad, from 5am until it was time to leave for work when I was a lawyer, and if I was lucky, I'd be home in time to do another 20-40 min before bed. During all that time, the only person who cared whether or not I finished a project was me. Now things are starting to change, and I can only hope that continues.
Writing to me was never about fame or fortune. It's been about hard work with little reward, inconvenient deadlines, nasty cover art, projects getting orphaned by editors and put off for years. No matter how much of this I've seen, though, I still think, "Yeah, that's what I want. Sign me up!"
So today was a good day. The writing wasn't great, but there was lots of writing.
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