By Sharon Ewing
I don’t have an English degree and never took a journalism course, so I suspected writing my first novel might not be an easy task. But having endless books on the subject and a dedicated group of writers willing to critique my writings, I was ready to do battle. I figured, the more armor I could gather, the better my chances of winning this war of words. I believed, innocently enough, that I’d readily accomplish my goal. Grammar, punctuation and other structural elements were easy-peasy, having taught them over and over ad nauseum for the last several years. Now, I expected I’d master all the intricacies of plot, character development, tension, crafting dialogue and everything else needed to fashion an enjoyable narrative and planned on having my book ready in about a year. I set this goal shortly after retirement, nearly two years ago and true to my expectations, I’ve learned a great deal.
I’ve learned that the road to success is “paved with good intentions.” Mine, I discovered was also mired with innumerable procrastination habits. I indulged in my natural gift for organization to the limit. But setting up my desk, sharpening pencils, arranging my files alphabetically, and buying supplies, sooner or later had to end and putting words on the paper had to begin. I’ve learned that my cell phone is another great distraction, and I must put it out of reach, or I’ll find myself checking e-mails, texts and, oh yes, it’s my turn on “Words with Friends.” I love natural light, but discovered I can’t be facing the window or I’m soon lost in whatever is happening at the bird feeder or daydreaming because something outside triggered an errant thought.
I’ve given myself permission to clear a portion of my day for what I want to do – write without guilt. I’ve learned to put aside the thought of my house gathering dust or worry about the dirty dishes in the sink when I’m writing. (No one is coming during COVID-19 anyway.) I’ve learned it’s okay to tell my husband, “I’m writing when the door is closed, please don’t disturb,” and believe it won’t send me to neglectful spouse’s hell for eternity. On the flip side, I’ve also discovered how supporting other writers can be when presented with copy that is, no doubt, far below their standards, along with their willingness to offer suggestions and encouragement at the same time.
The naïve expectations and assumptions I began with have been disproved. I’ve called out my procrastinations and hopefully exorcised most of them. In short, while the bulk of the novel still resides in my head, and I haven’t come close to the time expectations I now understand were unreasonable to begin with. Yet the many lessons I’ve already picked up on this path allow me to forge ahead. I remain undaunted!
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