I wish I could find out how long it has been since I began the process of writing a novel. It’s something I wanted to do for many years but there was always a reason to suppress that desire. The toxic opinion of a few friends in particular was a major proponent in my shame for wanting to be a writer, or at least in the consideration that I have the ability to pull it off.
Yesterday while sitting at my usual table at Tim Horton’s in the heart of St. John’s on Thorburn rd I finally reach the two most sought after words a writer wants to reach. The End.
I finally reached the end of the third draft of what I hope will become my debut novel. This may not sound all that momentous, a non-writer may think that finishing the first draft would be the note worthy day.
This third draft was more than a simple revision, it was a complete re-write. I started the original draft more than two years ago and was very green. When I went to make a pass for this draft I realized that I as pretty much re-writing every chapter anyway with new techniques I picked up in the last six months, and added some much needed character depth to the story.
I started with a brand new OpenOffice document, eventually purchasing and migrating to Scrivener, and rewrote the entire book. This third draft is really just the first draft of a far superior book.
I intended on taking a few days off and relax while waiting for some edits to arrive on the manuscript. It was a brutal period, especially as I approached the ending. I felt so accomplished yesterday yet so mentally exhausted.
The strange part of it all? This morning after finally sleeping through the night, I got up a little later than normal but packed up my laptop and my gear and headed out to Tim’s. Here I sit about to open up Scrivener and see what kind of tale is going to flow from the keyboard this morning.
This feeling I have of sitting here like a child on Christmas morning is why so many of you do this isn’t it? The editing and revising process is grueling, and I imagine it’s only going to get more draining the further I get along in the publication process… especially if this ends up becoming a self-publishing endeavor.
Is my novel good? great? complete Meyer-sized trash? I have no idea. I love it, my parents love it, my girlfriend loves is, and my friends love it. (Or at least they all say they do)… does anything else really matter?
(Well of course it does if I want to turn this into a career… but I digress)
If you look back from this blog, especially in the last two years since I began this project, you are going to find a lot of posts citing the line, “I Am A Writer.”
There have been a lot of epiphany’s, a lot of revelations, and a lot of “I finally feel like a writer” sentiments but looking back on all of them now I realize it was all said with the wisdom of that second grade boy and girl who hold hands and tell each other they love each other.
They have no way of knowing so young, so innocent. It could be true, more than likely it’s not. Until yesterday this is how my eyes viewed writing.
I guess it should be common sense to say that you can’t really feel like a writer until you’ve written something.
I don’t know if it’ll ever see the light of day, nor can I say I’ll get as popular as people like Peter V Brett, Wes Chu, Chuck Wendig, and so on.
What? Stephen King? hahahahahaha
I think my difficulty bar has been set considerably high enough, those guys are amazing, I’m not aiming for the stratosphere at this point. Let’s just see if any of you actually enjoy my writing to begin with.
P.S: If you would like to be a beta reader for upcoming work, you can e-mail me
DevinLeeNL@Gmail.com – I decided to repurpose this e-mail for my writing relating avenues.