Sunday, March 6, 2016

I'm only comfortable when I'm writing.

Got back on track yesterday. Went walking in the rain on my old route, which was refreshing. The ideas just started flowing. I not only wrote a couple of chapters, but I came up with some bigger ideas for the rest of the book. I think I know where it is going now.

I felt very good about it, and I realized that I've gotten to the point, after four years, that I'm only comfortable when I'm writing. Otherwise I feel somewhat at loose ends, as if my day is partly empty.

In other words, it's gotten to the point where I not only want to write, but need to write.

Opening that creative part of the brain is a healthy thing, I think. And managing to actually make use of the ideas I come up with is very satisfying.

Whether I do so in a readable way is something I'll probably always struggle with. I worry that it comes too easy for me. I do try to put my feet to the fire to give it more effort when I'm finished with the first draft. I acknowledge that rewriting is necessary and almost always results in a better book.

On the other hand, the pure creativity of the first draft -- indulging in that -- is making me a better storyteller, I think. I'm letting my imagination loose, without restrictions, and it feels good.

I'm addicted to the first draft, and I can't go too long without it. Fortunately for me, there is nothing to keep me from doing it. I don't need any outside thing to make it possible -- no permission, no tools, no help.

I can just indulge my passion at my own whim.

It's a great thing to look forward to over the coming years. I wonder how I managed to live my life without it for so many years. I had the store, and that was a creative effort in many ways, but this is more pure. As much as I want people to read me, it isn't even dependent on that.

I can just write and have fun and it is enough.

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