“How long before you will have something of your novel ready to submit?” a fellow writer asked me a couple of weeks ago. A fall day with strong sun. My friend’s eyes were intense.
“Six months, I think.” And suddenly I knew: “I could not have answered that question a month ago. I really am ready to press on.”
In order to get to where I am now, which is with even moderate focus, I have had to withdraw from my blog and much of the internet. Okay, fine, I said to self as fall pressed on. Take a full month hiatus from the blog. First things first, and the novel is first. I’ve been dithering around with it for far too long. I also wanted to putter in the garden during the glorious fall weather. Sit on the porch, put my feet up, and watch the leaves fall.
As these things often do, the month hiatus has stretched into six weeks. With each passing day, it has become harder to return here. I have formed different habits. My mind is thoroughly on the novel each morning, and the rest of the day flies with tending grandson and the household, crochet, which I’ve now taken up, and reading all manner of things.
“Being a good writer is 3% talent, 97% not being distracted by the internet.”~ Anonymous
I’ve discovered something. I am not a blogger.
I blog, but I am not a blogger, in the same manner that I very often rode a horse but certainly was not a cowgirl. I have done both, but I have also laid down both.
“Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.” ~Louis L’Amour
I cannot lay down novel writing. I am a novelist. I can write a short-story, or an article, or essay, or even a bit of memoir, and heaven knows I intend to pursue all of those. But here and now my heart and soul is in the novel. And in order to write a novel, I must give my heart and soul to it.