Okay…guess I’m out of excuses.
Another summer has lapsed and I’m just now proofing the galley of my first book. I’m slightly ashamed it has taken an extra year than anticipated. But two summers have seriously put a dent in my productivity (Okay, let’s also not overlook falling in love and ALL that goes with that…et hem.)
Here I am with the manuscript and I am searching the real truth behind the block.
Is it that I can’t cut the cord? Has my first book really been that difficult? Is perfectionism playing a part? Is the fact that it is a memoir, my whole life, the good, bad and ugly, about to be out there for anyone to read, also a huge factor? My guess is: “D: All the Above.”
Certainly I have come to learn through this process that cutting the cord on my first book has not been easy. Partly because it is my first baby. And partly because not only am I a perfectionist when it comes to my life story, but so is my editor. Who is also my fiancee. So you can see how many days and nights we spent choosing sex, movies, cooking meals, vacations, ANYTHING over editing the damn book.
And, unfortunately, that is what is was known in our house. The damn book. Because, you see, until it is in print, it is “the damn book.”
Now I know what you’re saying. ‘Wendy, that’s not the attitude.’ It should be fun, your journey, it’s your work, your story, your love. Where has your passion gone. Well to you I’d say “try editing your first book. Then give it to 5 other people to edit. Then after editing it yet again and having had read it, oh, say about 25-30 times, the passion is out the window for a while. Unfortunately, that’s where I’m at. It’s the “damn book.”
But there will come a time, a time very soon, when I will be inspired again. When I am promoting it. Talking to other people with mental illness. Other writers who are stuck but want to write their story or some other work for publication. Then I will be energized once again and I can resume my journey. It is this damn editing detour that has gotten me waylayed. Oh, editing. Had I known it was going to be this repetitive and torturous, would I have signed up? Perhaps not.
Ignorance can be bliss, true. I stand by that. Now, it’s not just for world events and politics (*which I loathe…they’re 90% crooks I say), but let’s add to that becoming a writer.
I am so glad I have been ignorant in the beginning of my journey of becoming a writer. Had I known I would become a novice web designer, pimped out self-promoter, tortured editor, reliving trauma over and over, I highly, highly doubt I would’ve signed up.
Then again, isn’t masochism also a prerequisite?
Okay, maybe I would’ve.
Ciao for now.