Apparently I don’t feel that I have enough stress in my life because I just backed myself into a corner. A very public corner when I announced the release of my next book in November. On my website. And on Twitter. No more than three months, if I manage to drag my feet and hold off until the last possible second.
It’s not like I’m starting from scratch. The book is about three-quarters of the way done. Only problem is, it’s been three-quarters of the way done for a long time.
I’ve been writing this book for what feels like forever. Longer than I’ve ever taken with any other one. Much longer. Spent countless hours researching in libraries, a records office, the historical society, the newspaper archives, and online. I fell in love each and every character. Well, with one notable exception. This is my baby.
It wasn’t until a couple of days ago that I realized why I never got any closer to finishing it. Because if I did, I wouldn’t be able to work on it anymore. Or to say I was working on it. If I got the editing and rewrites done, finally got to the end, I’d have to say goodbye to make-believe people I’ve gotten far too attached to. And I wasn’t ready to let them go.
But as happens with so many situations in our lives, it’s time to make my peace with it and move on to other projects. Will I love future characters and plots as much as I do this one? I sure hope so. It would be awfully tough to write if I couldn’t get very involved with it all.
So now I’m committed to finishing the handful of scenes I believe it needs, to do some editing, get it to my proofreader, and then edit it again. And probably a couple of more times after that.
It might be easier if I could find the list I made the day I realized what I’ve been doing. But somehow I managed to misplace it (please, not in the trash bag that was picked up this morning!). Too bad, since it was the list of scenes I wanted to add. Even worse, I’m drawing a blank on all but a couple of them.
If I was tired enough, or stupid enough, to actually throw it away, I just might have to kick myself for writing it on a piece of paper instead of in a computer file. But I will get the book done. For whatever reason, I seem to be more efficient when there’s a deadline involved. Even if it’s a self-imposed one.
Wish me luck.
And just a quick word to my father. It’s been eight years, Dad. Still missing you every day. Tell Kerry, Grandpa, Grandma, and everyone else hi for me. And you had best be perfecting your filleting skills because I expect a big fish fry when I get there someday. Love you.