This week’s been exhausting and busy for me. I wanted to post this sooner, but wasn’t able to. Sorry! I spent a lot of time without the internet, so when I wasn’t working or sleeping, I spent it writing more on my current book (almost 35,000 words!) and editing an earlier one.
While I was doing this, it kinda got me thinking. Who do we write books?
I mean, besides the fact we all hope we’re writing the next Harry Potter. 😉
But seriously, writing a book is hard. You spent months (if not years!) sitting down and writing a very long story. The Lord of The Rings took twelve years for Tolkien to write, not to mention his son found after his death enough rewrite material to fill two books! Then another six to get published.
Finally, once you write it, you have to edit and reedit. People then read it and find plot holes and inconsistencies and misspelled words. This is more editing before it finally gets published, all for people to leave nasty one star reviews on amazon.
(Note, while it seems like I hate editing, I really don’t. I Promise! I’m just elbow deep in it right now.)
But why do we put ourselves through this. It’s hard enough to write a book on a computer, imaging writing one on a type writers, or long hand. Any time you make changes, you’d have to change everything again. Taking out a scene or adding a scene would be so much harder.
I can’t speak for anyone else, but I can speak for me.
I write because I need to. I write because I have a story begging to be told. Because I have characters who demand their part be known. Because creating like this feels so close to pure magic for me.
Last summer for my day job, I had to work on an incredible difficult but required qualification at work. I could only actively work on it after work and it ate up my free time. It normally takes an average of five months and that’s about the total of time put in. During this time, I only wrote about two chapters. Two chapters.
It was awful.
My characters were burning up in my mind and wouldn’t leave me alone. I was thinking about them all the time, whether I wanted to or not. A few times, I even dreamed about them. I felt like something was backed up and I couldn’t get it out.
When I finally finished it, I was back at writing with a fury.
So that’s why I tell my stories. Because I can’t not write., at least not without feeling crabby and miserable. A few days sure, but months? No! Please, anything else.
And I think this is important. I know this way, I’m not writing for anyone else. I’m writing it for me and the pleasure of doing it. Even if I knew no one else would ever read my work, I’d still enjoy what I do.
As they say, it’s not work if you love what you do.
If your a writer, or have author-to-be goals, why do you write?As I once saw, maybe you write only because it’s illegal to kidnap people and force them to act out what’s going on in your mind. *whacked* Let me know below =)