Writing is the waiting/making game.
Waiting for those first ideas and thoughts and feelings to settle together, a fragile puzzle. Making those bits work when you get them so you can start a scene, the beginning of a novel, a part of the Icky Middles, the climax, the end, a character, a moment, an expression of joy–anything that sets you on the writing path. Or points you in the right direction. Or taunts you to ‘Come this way.’
Making time for this story, perhaps squeezed in between other novels you’re working on, all in different places, all requiring your attention.
Finishing a draft then waiting to hear back from your agent.
And then an editor.
Waiting for contracts, monies, covers, edits, back and forths, and all along you’re making your writing time work most effectively for you–perhaps even beginning another project–waiting for those first ideas and thoughts and feelings to settle together, like a fragile puzzle.
The truth is, I don’t believe in Writer’s Block (though I will give it a proper name) and I don’t believe in the Muse.
I believe in Verbs.
We make writing work for us.
We make time.
We squeeze moments from our busy days.
We give up other things.
We do it.
With maybe only a glimmer of hope.
Waiting for those first ideas and thoughts and feelings to settle together, like a fragile puzzle.
That process all over again.
Here’s to joy in the process. Even when we find ourselves waiting.