My original intent for this blog was to talk about writing. Every once in a while I have to remind myself of that and get back to the point.
Creating my first novel took all of about nine months. The second, right at eleven. The third. fourteen months. (then another year and a half doing a variety of rewrites for a variety of different people, that thus far still have not produced any significant news, but have vastly improved the product)
Now for my latest novel I seem to be on pace for about eighteen months. Actually for my two novels since for some reason I am glutton for punishment and have decided to write two simultaneous. But hey, they are so different it has been fun thus far.
So what gives? The more you practice the better you should get. Right? And the better you are the easier it is to do, thus making the entire process quicker. Right? Not for me.
Why? There are multiple factors such as when I penned my fort I only had one infant child and now I have two rambunctious boys who demand much more of my time. But they along with other outside factors aren't the real reason.
So what is? Don't y'all like it when I bet questions in your head?
Ready for the Million Dollar Answer?
I've become picky about what I put down on the page. Or at least what I allow to linger there on the page. used to be stumbled along not caring so much how I got to the finish line as long as I broke that tape.
Now I have expectations. At the end of the marathon it isn't enough to say, Wow look at me I finished. No I want to throw my hand in the air and as my chest breaks that tape at the end. I want the announcer(follow along with me that would be literary agents in my metaphor) to shout what a marvelous feat, just look at that time) I want someone to slip a medal around my neck. (an editor for those metaphorically challenged) It doesn't have to be gold, silver or bronze will do at this point, and say No there is a professional. A true literary athlete worthy of publication.
So these days I don't simply slip on the Nike's and go out jogging. I lace up the strings a bit tighter. get out the stop watch, and RUN. Yeah it's hard work most days and I shed far more sweat than I used to, but I still believe my best race has yet to be run.
So fellow writers? Has your pace slowed as well, or I am just out of shape? And that picture is not of me. It's some other tall hairy guy.