Is anyone else weird about others knowing you’re attempting to write a novel?
I’ve told loved ones “one day I’d love to publish a book” and the like, but I haven’t told a soul I’ve actually been working on a novel
Last night I wrote THE END in huge letters and had a bittersweet joy because I have no one to celebrate with. No one I know knows how many hundreds of hours I’ve devoted to this project, how many nights I couldn’t sleep thinking about and planning my story
The first 40k words were written on my phone, but last year during a terrible stretch of writers block I made the best decision I made and switched to longhand. Picked up a couple of giant faux leather notebooks and fancy gel pens and rewrote everything I had on my phone, and with the momentum continued to the end. 346 notebook pages of chicken scratch at about 300 words per page, ~103k words
The book is deeply personal and I’ve fictionalized myself and a good friend I lost in a tragedy, and in the story I vicariously navigated grief. It was hugely cathartic and healing, but it’s first and foremost a story for me. I don’t think I’ll ever share what’s in this first draft, and maybe that’s how it should be
Next draft will be a transcription designed for the eyes of others. I know this journey has only just begun, but I’m pausing to celebrate and appreciate this accomplishment! Thanks for reading