I have come to understand that writing is a journey . . . I have even begun to wonder if there ever is a destination. I know the destination I am trying to reach – a completed book. And yet, there are days when this epic journey of fictional writing feels out of reach. It is as if my fingers are grasping and reaching toward something only my heart can see.
I am a fledging novelist – a seeker, learner, novice, and apprentice in the craft of writing. These thoughts overwhelm me and I want to give up (and sometimes I do). In fact, I went a month without writing so much as a word. Then, I began to miss my Miranda and her story. However, I still could not write, because there was the danger of letting my character (the one I created) down. I desire to give Miranda only my very best writing and there are times when this feels like a challenge and other times it feels like a burden. A burden this novice was not sure she could carry . . . and then doubt began to set in.
What am I doing? Am I crazy? Is my writing ‘good’? What makes me think I can succeed where so many others have failed? I began to think that I was just a silly dreamer, one of the many people who would have to hang their head and say in a low voice, “No, I never finished my book.” These thoughts began to torment me and I began to understand why Hemmingway became depressed and drank so much – anything to numb the searing pain of self-doubt.
And then, it happened . . . someone I love more than my own life said, “Write, because you love to write. Make the love of writing your only motivation – forget all other goals. Just write.” So, here I am today – writing just because I love it. I will not be an expert today or even tomorrow, but this fledgling writer will again take on the never-ending journey of finishing my novel. Perhaps, I will reach my destination of a completed book . . .