So, yesterday my book was launched and was put out there for everyone to see – however few or many that may be.
I am kind of nervous calling it a book, when the word count is just over 12,000. Technically I guess its a novella, not a full-length book, but what really matters is that it was deemed well-written enough to attract a publisher who took the time to work with me, edit it and format it and also provide a really nice, evocative cover for it.
When I first wrote the piece, it tumbled out of me in fairly short order – three or four days from start to finish. Then I spent about two months polishing and re-working it. And along the way I realized something about it.
It’s a ghost story – sort of. That’s the category it falls under, but its a bit more personal than that. I realized about six or seven paragraphs from the end, as I was feverishly writing them, that this was a story about me and something I had not quite put to rest.
We all have ghosts. Things that haunt.
When the realization hit me that this was what the story was really about, I was amused and also a bit wonder-struck. My subconscious had been processing the stuff I’d been dealing with and found a way for me to express what I was feeling without telling me. It had fooled me into thinking I was just making this stuff up off the top of my head – you know, being a genius 🙂
And the thing is, I wasn’t miffed about it, I didn’t feel I had been fooled, but rather was giddy that not only did I create something I found enjoyable to write and read, but also that it allowed me to give voice to an issue without revealing what the issue was. I’m not going to go onto to details because, I want the mystery to remain unclear – otherwise it isn’t a mystery.
Sometimes the words flow – and sometimes they don’t.
Part of what I find attractive about the craft is the excavation – the digging up of things that are hidden and when you uncover them, they suddenly shine and sparkle.
But there are days, sometimes weeks when the excavation is just dull and frustrating. It’s work.
Even things that seem simple, like this post, suddenly feel like the last thing in the world you want to do. I should be working on something else, I tell myself – one of those other stories I’m working on, finishing up the follow-up to “Buddy Holly…” for example. I doubt this feeling or view point will ever change and its something I know every other writer or creative type will understand and recognize.
Creating is hard.
Maybe that’s why there is so much conflict and aggression out there in the “real” world.
Easier to pull the bricks down, then to piece them together.
I hope that those who purchase the novella enjoy it. I hope it sparks moments of recognition or at least makes them smile at points. In the end I hope it entertains.
Ok, enough ego fluffing and pseudo-philosophizing.
Back to putting the bricks into place and building something new.