I’m always amazed when I’ve finished the first draft of a novel. (Which I haven’t just done, unfortunately, and am currently being distracted from by doing this!) Because I always wonder…where did all those words come from? And how did I manage to put most of them in the right place? And how did I come up with that particular character or plot twist, and find my way to such a satisfactory ending? And will I ever be able to do it again?
What it took was an incredible amount of thinking. And that, I find, is the biggest dilemma when I’m in the midst of a project that requires so much concentration and focus. During those deep-thought times, I find myself resenting…this is difficult to admit…the intrusion of the entire world, because every single one, large or small, is simply another distraction leading me away from where I need to be, which is inside my story.
So please don’t blame yourself if I seem short-tempered or cranky sometimes, and try not to resent me, either–it’s not you, it’s me. Honest. Sometimes I wish I could hide out in a cave, become a hermit, just to be able to completely immerse myself in my passion. But I have a family, and friends and a household to run, and I’ve chosen to walk this path in life, as well as my creative one. And it’s inevitable that sometimes they cross. I’m trying my best to deal with both. And a writer needs huge blocks of time to THINK…when that’s disrupted, we can be like hibernating bears awakened from that dark and quiet place where we’ve buried ourselves. I always wish I could find more thinking time during the day, because if that doesn’t happen, then my nights are sure to be compromised, and I’ll be scribbling notes in the bathroom. I think when I’m walking the dog, when I’m hanging out the laundry, when I’m peeling potatoes, when I’m mowing the lawn, when I’m taking a swim. Often when people are talking to me.
What this is all leading up to is an apology, of sorts, to my world and everyone who interacts with me. Please understand, I’m always working, sad but true. I don’t have an off switch. And if I’m not actually in front of the computer, I wish I could be. (Again, sorry.) Most of the time only part of me is existing in the present, and the rest of me is existing in a world that I’ve created myself, and won’t be able to escape from until I’ve written those two brilliant words: THE END.