Where I’m at Wednesday
I made it home. Yay! But. . .Boo! I left my parents, cooler temperatures, and the tranquil forest behind.
The good news is, while I was gone, I managed to finish a few chapters. Now, I would like to print out the manuscript and get it ready for the “clean-up” stage. It isn’t just about editing, but adding more details. I do enjoy this part of the process. It also helps me to get a clearer picture of where I’m at in the story. I consider this part the final stages before completing the book.
What drives you to write?
A passion to express your stories,
Or, do you hunger to impress others?
We—writers can gravitate to both reasons. But, if you lean more toward the latter, then you may be setting up for failure.
Why? 1) The rewards will be short. Sure, in the beginning, you may gain a lot, but sooner-or-later it will dwindle. 2) People lose interest; you can only hold their attention for so long. 3) And when they wane interest, you will too. 4) It may even force you to write harder, but it won’t have the quality you’re hoping for. 5) Eventually, you will run out of stories or ideas. 6) You will become exhausted, trying to maintain the pretenses.
Be passionate about your work, but don’t let it go to your head. People read to imagine new things, to escape their own issues, or to gain a broader knowledge. They don’t attach to you—the writer until you’ve proven you can do these things for them.
Enjoy your work, and don’t let it overwhelm you. I would rather my stories to be a journey for me, as much as it is for the reader. If you rush or push yourself, it can fizzle; most of us don’t work well under a panicked state. Take your time to craft ideas. Relax.
Seeking notoriety shouldn’t be at the top of your list. Gaining an audience should. Be respectful and don’t pressure people.
I wish you the best.
Take care, my friends.
O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;
It is the green-ey’d monster, which doth mock
The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss,
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger:
But O, what damnèd minutes tells he o’er
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!
—Othello by William Shakespeare