A writing fellow I know, Tom Wallace, has started a blog. It's already more on point, more amusing, and much more erudite than mine, and the problem here is, I have no idea how to indicate that I am sticking my tongue out at him in print. (Blegh? Ffftt? Thwipppity?)
Of course, I have some room for pride: I am still nano'ing, and I'm keeping my word count up despite illness, locusts and driving hail. OK, just one of those. But still, I am definitely up against it.
So I read the week three pep talk from nanowrimo, and apparently, I am supposed to be hating my characters, despairing of my plot, and generally finding myself less than pleased with my novel. In fact, I am very happy with my novel, barring a few issues.
1. Chapter 5 is now three times as long as all the rest of the chapters. What's with that?
2. I think I'm going to have to take the whole thing apart and put it together again in a different order to make cause A happen in front of effect B.
3. I still haven't found a way to get rid of the zombies that showed up during plotting. Damn zombies.
Where comes all this fear that if I am not like other writers, that I am not a good writer? I never really wanted to belong to any fraternity, I suppose, and now I find myself staring in, hoping I am one of those people I always admired.
Jamie at Woodstream told me the other day that what I needed was to send one of my babies out to an agent--ready or not. She's right, and I'm going to do it.
Just as soon as I get rid of those zombies.