Writing is fun. Writing at it best can be noble, empowering and life changing.
But it is hard work. Make no mistake.
Currently I’m ploughing my way though the THIRD draft of my novel. This is not unusual. Novels, good novels, go through countless drafts until they’re readable. Then, once put in the hands of an editor and copywriter, the process of writing and rewriting begins anew until the manuscript is the best, leanest, most coherent permutation of the writers voice possible.
Then the book arrives in the stores and has to duke it out with ever other schlubs books.
Hard work. Filled with writing and rewriting. Deletion. additions, subtractions, moving…ye gods. Who would want to do this for a living, eh?
Ah yes. That would be me.
Actually I’m wrong. The correct analogy would be
hacking slashing my way though a forest. Because that’s exactly what it feels like I’m doing.
Its fun. But its hard work. Make no mistake.
Don’t even get me started about the illustrations. Yeesh! I need a drink. Think I’ve done enough re/writing for one day.