The Grumps....

I am in a grumpy mood today. I am fighting a cold, fighting the end of my novel and fighting all the critics in my head that have gotten so loud it is making it hard to hear anything else. I think this is the hardest part of writing. The part that insists that you just keep going, keep writing, regardless of the fact that there is little outside encouragement, or financial incentive, or anything really telling you to keep going back to the page other than that there is a story inside that needs to be told and you are the only one to tell it.

I love writing novels for all the same reasons that it makes me crazy. I love the solitude, the lack of collaboration, the opportunity to tell the story from start to finish, the structure that allows me to really explore the worlds of my characters and the time it takes to flesh them out and delve deep into their psyches. I love how long it takes and I love that there is, I believe, a purity to the form...noone gets to work on it until the very end, when it is time to show it to the editor and the agent. Until then it is a wonderful, private, ethereal, deeply involved process and when it is working it is magical. And when it isn't, it is frustrating and intangible and lonely and there is no one to work it out with or rail against but oneself. Sigh.

Some days are better than others and there's only way to find out...go back to the page and keep at it.