a novel
I’ve been staring at a mountain of words. Maybe it is a pit of words. No. An ocean of words. Everyone says to just start. Pick up a story and start the rewrites, the editing, the polishing, the reconstructing. Yes. I know.
Take baby steps.
Take a deep breath.
Dive in.
I feel a bit like the person saying that is standing at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, pointing to the water’s horizon, and smiling reassuringly. “You will get to the other side.”
But I am a primitive person who believes the world is flat and I’m going to swim straight off the end. Well, okay. The world is round but it has sharks, rip currents, and pirates. And I’m a terrible swimmer.
Why did I write so damn much? Aren’t there enough words already? And I’ve got an idea for another story–it’s like tying weights to my ankles.
So. I may not be reading blogs as much, but I am reading more books while I stand here on the shore shivering and proving we are all our own worst enemy.
How do you feel about swimming?
