Here we are: the final post of 2019!
I’m not going to lie. 2019 has felt like a set-back year. In January, I had a novel that was out on submission. I had an agent, and I was hard at work on another book.
I was “On my Way.”
Of all of the things that changed over the course of the year, that one part has stayed consistent. I’m still on my way.
But the novel didn’t go anywhere. The second book is done, but now I’m between agents, and the querying response to the second book hasn’t been energetic.
I’m hard at work on a third novel, but there’s no guarantee that it’ll do any better. Or the one after that. Or the one after that…
All around me, friends are signing agents, landing book deals and it feels like I’m going in the opposite direction.
At this point, I am going to stop myself right here to say that I am *Absolutely Jazzed* for my friends. It brings me no end of joy to see them succeeding, and I am rubbing my fingers together in eager anticipation of getting my hands on each of their books and Devouring all that goodness.
The next day, however, right around 5:30 in the morning, when it’s cold and the coffee isn’t working yet, and I’m alone with my thoughts, the question is sometimes there:
Why am I doing this?
Why am I dragging myself out of bed when I could be warm under the blankets? Why have I sacrificed television to make time to write? Why am I not spending more time playing games? Why do I subject myself to the uncertainty? The rejection? All of it?
These are all good questions. They range all over the place, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t deserving of some kind of answer.
And as widely spread over my life the questions are, the answer is as close as a second skin.
I love writing.
I have never come away from a work of whatever length without being in love with the story, the characters, or the ideas in there.
Story sales, publishing deals, critical and popular success is reliant on so much that is out of my control. What I *can* control, is the work.
The work is the comfort there in the dark. The act of creation, that time when an idea comes and everything slides into place, is what it’s all about. The times when the feeling of “Oh Yeah…” hits you in the spine, that’s where the pleasure and the payoff live.
That’s why I do it at the core.
Sure, all of the other things are nice, and I believe they will come as long as I keep at it, but they aren’t what gets me out of bed.
What gets me moving is the thought of putting Pen to Paper (or fingers to the keyboard) and GOING THERE.
That’s what I’m built to do.
The Story is why I do it.